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LYDIA HOYT FARMER 


Author of a Knight of Faith 


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57 1=^0 SE Street 
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Moral Inheritance. 


BY 


LYDIA HOYT FAEMER, 

'0 

Author of Knight of Faith f *lThe Life of La Fayette,'' 

“-4 Short History of the French Revolution," **Boys' Book 
of Famous Rulers," “ Girls' Book of Famous 
Queens," A Story Book of Science," ^'The 
Prince of the Flaming Star," etc., etc. 


(Copyright 1890, by J. S. Ogilvie.) 


THESUNNYSIDESERIES, No. Hi. Issued Monthly. January, 1891. Extra. $3.00 per year. Entered 
at New York Post-Office as second-class matter. Copyright, by J. S. Ogilvie. 


NEW YORK ; 

J. S. OGILVIE, Publisher, 
57 Rose Street. 



DEDICATED 


TO MY BELOVED FATHER, AND TO THE MEMORY OF MY 

SAINTED MOTHER, 

WHOSE BLESSED UNION OF CONGENIAL NATURES, PURE SOULS, AND 
CHRISTIAN LIVES, HAS BEQUEATHED TO THEIR CHILDREN, AND 
CHILDREN’S CHILDREN, A MORAL INHERITANCE, 

WHICH IS ABOVE ALL PRICE. 


«• 




. 'c. »•>. 


.Vi, .-'k 


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PREFACE. 


Soul-heredity,” or Traducianism, is a solemn fact, more 
vital to our earthly and eternal interests than the inheritance 
of rank, or wealth, or even genius. We not only partake of 
the physical peculiarities of our parents and ancestors, but we 
receive from them a moral inheritance of soul, which largely” 
determines our characters in this life, and consequently, bears 
strongly upon our eternal destinies. Education, environments, 
and Cliristianity, are influences which can counteract much of 
inherited evil ; and the God-Man hath power, not only over 
the devil in the world, but over the tempter in our own hearts, 
and is “ able to save to the uttermost.” But the souls of our 
parents and ancestors have bequeathed to us either harmoniojjs 
natures, in which good so strongly preponderates as to insure 
tendencies toward good choices; or we inherit souls in which 
the diverse natures of our ancestors maintain a continual war- 
fare. These conflicting tendencies, successive generations can 
only modify, and Christianity alone can eradicate. Parents 
who gain the victory over the evil in their own hearts, through 
the aid of the Spirit of God, may not thereby insure the cer- 
tain salvation of their children — for free will in every individ- 
ual, necessitates personal responsibility — but such parents do 
bequeath to their children the priceless legacy of natures in 
which the conquest over evil has been largely attained. 
Heroic times make heroic souls, and heroic souls bequeath 
heroism to their posterity. 

As ‘‘ Soul-heredity,” is the vital root which determines the 
motive, which culminates in word and action ; so ancestral influ- 
ences give the key-note to. historical characters, and form an 
important basis for the probable and natural building up of 
those characters in fiction which are intended to exemplify 
some vital truth. 


THE AUTHOR. 



A MORAL INHERITANCE 


CHAPTER I. 

It was the first of July, 1867. The sun shone brightly in a 
clear sky, and beautiful Paris never appeared more fair. The 
famous Exposition Universelle, in which the arts, sciences, and 
industries of the entire world were displayed with unequalled 
magnificence, was just then at its height. France on that 
occasion fraternized with all nations. Her resplendent capital 
was the admiration of mankind, and Louis Napoleon and 
Eugenie had reached the culmination of the glory of their 
reign. Unclouded happiness seemed to pervade the land, and 
the French Empire for a time blazed forth once more in 
splendor. 

On this day, Napoleon III. was to distribute prizes to the 
successful competitors. The emperor and empress left the 
Tuileries at two o’clock, and entering a gorgeous state* carriage 
resplendent with red and gold, drawn by eight horses magnifi- 
cently caparisoned, escorted by Cent Gardes and Squadrons of 
Lancers, together with officers and servants of tlie imperial 
household, they arrived at the Palais de ITndustrie in the 
Champs Elysees. The interior of this edifice had been superbly 
decorated for the occasion. A thin white drapery, dotted with 
golden stars and bordered with bands of pale green, was grace- 
fully festooned from the semicircular glass roof. The galleries 
were hung with crimson velvet draperies, trimmed with gold 
lace. The armorial designs of the various nations exhibiting, 
were displayed on the front of the columns supporting the roof. 
Around the vast hall, tier upon tier of crimson-colored benches 
provided seats for thirty thousand people. In the centre of 
one side of the hall stood the imperial throne, gorgeous with 
crimson and gold, canopied with golden velvet, surmounted by 
a massive crown, towering to the roof. Tlie folds of richest- 
hued velvet, embroidered with golden bees — the royal insig- 
nia — the crimson and black covering of the dais, the dazzling 
ornaments of the imperial throne filled the eye with a blaze of 


lO 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


color even before the royal cortege swept into the thronged 
and gorgeous apartment. 

As the august party took their respective [)Ositions, two 
young men, seated upon one of the rows of benches nearest the 
throne, uttered exclamations of admiration as the beautiful 
Empress Eugenie, with queenly grace, took her place by the 
Emperor Napoleon upon the glittering throne. Eugenie was 
arrayed in white, embroidered with gold, with a mauve satin 
train. Her crown, necklace, and si^omacher were of diamonds, 
and diamonds blazed in her ears an(ftell in dazzling pendants 
upon her breast. 

On the right of Napoleon w^as the Sultan of Turkey, in a 
blue and gold uniform, upon which glistened a diamond star, 
w'hile the ribbon of the Legion of Honor adorned his breast. 
Next to the sultan sat the Prince of Wales. Then came the 
Prince of Orange, the Prince of Saxony and the Prince Impe- 
rial. The Grand Duchess Marie, the Duke of Aosta, the 
Duke of Cambridge, and the Princess Mathilde, together with 
the brother of the Japanese Tycoon, attired in a crimson and 
gold brocaded petticoat and black tunic, bordered wdth gold 
lace, occupied positions on the right of the Emperor Napoleon. 
On the left of the empress were the Prince Royal of Prussia, 
the Princess of Saxony, Prince Humbert of Italy, Prince 
Napoleon, and Abdul Hamed, son of the sultan. In the sec- 
ond row w^erq^ members of the Murat and Bonaparte families, 
and behind them were the French marshals, ministers of state, 
officers of the imperial household, and the Turkish beys and 
pachas in attendance upon the sultan. ^ 

The thirty thousand spectators were in splendid toilets; the 
ladies attired in richest costumes, and the gentlemen in even- 
ing dress, or some picturesque national uniform. Here could 
be seen Turks in fezes and turbans, with surtouts covered with 
gold lace, and long robes of gorgeous hues. Hungarian mag- 
nates wore blue velvet, bejewelled tunics, crimson pantaloons 
fringed wdth gold, and hats ornamented with feathers and dia- 
mond aigrettes. Japanese dignitaries w^ere resplendent in 
cloth of gold, light blue petticoats, scarlet breeches, wdiite 
stockings, patent-leather shoes^ and spiked hats fringed with 
silv(n*. Tunisians were there, glittering in green and gold, 
blazing with diamond stars. Austrian Uhlans wore picturesque 
uniforms, Persians sported their tall national head-dress, and 
Siamese might be seen in their queer flat hats, baggy satin 
breeches, and brocaded tunics. There were members of the 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


II 


Council of State, senators, deputies, prefects, lord mayors of 
London and Dublin, aldermen, sheriffs, masters of arts and 
doctors of divinity. There were ah(y French, Russian, Ger- 
man, Italian, Dutch, and British military and naval uniforms. 
Stars, crosses, ribbons of every order, jewels, and feathers, 
met the eye in all directions. The hall was a blaze of color 
and gorgeousness. 

After the distribution of the prizes by the Emperor Napo- 
leon, and the retirement of tlie imperial party, the two young 
men we have already mentioned sauntered leisurely amongst 
the crowds of their fair friends, bestowing gracious bows here 
and there, now and then stopping to favor some lovely femi- 
nine vision with some complimentary remark. The taller of 
the two young men was a fine specimen of physical beauty. 
His nationality was rather difficult to determine. He spoke 
French with great elegance to his fair friends, but when he 
turned to his companion they conversed in English. The taller 
one was dark-eyed, with brown hair, which in the sunlight had 
a glint of gold in it ; while his complexion was rather pale, 
with a white intellectual brow. He wore no beard, but a dark 
brown moustache overshadowed his expressive mouth. His 
companion was evidently an Englishman — no doubt there. 
His blue-gray eyes, ruddy skin, tawny hair and beard, and 
plainly English accent to his French when he^ essayed to 
answer some lady friend in that polite and fascinating tongue, 
made known at once to the beholder his native land. The 
taller young man was dressed with neatness, but unobtrusively ; 
while the shorter tawny-bearded individual sported English 
styles, with a loudness of design which denoted that he 
belonged to the class of dudish swells. 

Having left the Exposition building, and passed beyond the 
Champs Elysees, the two young men strolled along until they 
reached oOe of the gayest boulevards of Paris. Entering an 
imposing maison on the right, the two friends were soon 
ensconced in the elegant apartments of Hector Ormandoff. 

The two had been discussing some project of pleasure with 
evident earnestness, and as they lighted fresh cigars, and threw 
themselves into luxuriously lounging attitudes, the dark-eyed 
ond exclaimed : 

“ I can't do it. Will! I've sworn off from that sort of life." 

“Since when, pray thee, my model Hector? Only last 
month you were the jolliest fellow in the world, up to the 
wildest deviltry ! What fit of/blues has attacked you now? 


12 


A MORAL inheritance. 


And in the gay city of Paris, of all places, to play the devout 
recluse ! ” 

The two friends were seated in a richly furnished apartment, 
whose windows, looked out upon one of the most fashionable 
Parisian boulevards. Rich hangings, rare bric-a-hrac^ inviting 
divans, costly rugs, various master-pieces of art, artistically 
bound copies of the works of famous authors, gave to the room 
an air of glowing blendings of harmonious colors, handsome 
fabrics, graceful forms, cultivated tastes and lavish expenditure. 
Such was the mingled impression made upon an obseiwer by a 
liasty glance around the bachelor apartments inhabited by 
Hector Orman doff. 

It is no fit of the blues, Will, but science, legacies, and 
letters, which have influenced my determination to break away 
from some of my past habits and companionships. Of late, I 
liave be^n dipping into the science of traducianism. Last 
week I discovered a hitherto unrevealed legacy from my grand- 
father, in the shape of a journal of his life, and yesterday I 
received a letter from my mother. Traducianism, or ‘ soul- 
heredity,’ suggested to me the kind of moral inheritance I have 
received from my ancestors. My grandfather’s journal revealed 
to me the mystery of the dual natures I find warring against 
each other in my own soul, and my mother’s letter hinted a 
possible method of thouglit and action ; or, at least, it was the 
balancing Aveight which turned the scale of my resolve.” 

“ Well, Hector, old fellow, you’ve always been too fast for 
me, Avhen you’ve mounted your philosophical hobbies. But 
when you come down and deign to walk the earth with com- 
mon mortals, you’re the jolliest fellow alive. What’s the use, 
anyhow, of these outlandish notions you sometimes give your- 
4 self up to? Why not take the swing of the world, like the 
rest of us, and let old ‘ grinds’ and college ‘ profis ’ befuddle 
their brains with such misty musings ? For my part, give me 
Paris and a purse, and I’ll look out that I have my full share 
of a swell swing while youth lasts, anyhoAV ! It’s Mademoiselle 
Blanche this evening — charming little coquette ! Can you 
resist her, old fellow ? and all the other attractive mademoi- 
selles ? ” 

For an instant, the trace of the old grandfather’s blood flexw- 
ing in the veins of Hector Ormandoff — ^or ratlier, a trace of his 
coarse and brutal soul bequeathed to his descendants with his 
titles and estates — stirred the lowe^’ nature of the young man, 
inducing a half-longing for the diverting pleasures in Avhich lie. 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


13 


had so often plunged, in the endeavor to quiet the soul-restless- 
ness caused by the promptings of his higher and better nature, 
inherited from his maternal ancestry. 

‘‘ Blood will tell ! ** is an old and true saying. But meta- 
physical science has probed far deeper into the mysteries of 
heredity, and has proven, to the firm conviction of modern 
metaphysicians, that not only corporeal similarity is the inherit- 
ance of children, but ftiat souls reproduce souls, and that the 
soul of the child is the direct result of a union of the souls of 
the parents. Or, in other words, the soul of each child is not 
a new creation by a recent fiat of God, but is a direct reproduc- 
tion from the souls of tlie parents. Hence it follows, when a 
devilish soul is united in marriage with an angelic nature — as 
is often thje case where marriage is contracted upon the basis 
of merely worldly and mercenary bargains — the soul of the 
child resulting from such a moral mesalliance must inevitably 
find a constant warfare between the good and evil attributes of 
its own being ; and good or evil will predominate in the child’s 
character, according to the ascendancy of the devilish or 
angelic moral inheritance bequeathed to it by the commingled 
natures of its ancestry. 

This refers to the inherited disposition and nature of the 
child ; which', of course, is modified to a greater or less degree 
by education, environment, and Christian principles. 


H 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


CHAPTER IL^ 

The grandfather of Hector Orman doff was a Russian 
noble. In mighty Russia, 4;hat land of violent extremes, that 
land of lavish wealth and utter poverty ; — whose frightful 
climate conquered the otherwise invincible Napoleon, and with 
its keen frosts snapped the pillars of his throne ; where mil- 
lions tremble before a despot whose will is fettered by no con- 
stitution ; whose prisons are the ice realms of Siberia, wliither 
so many trains of wretched captives have passed to linger 
hopelessly in living tombs ; whose smouldering fires of discon- 
tent and hatred, fanned by the ardent breath of Nihilism, are 
constantly breaking out into rebellion and assassination ; — in 
that land of splendor and of barbarism, where the proud em- 
press-queen, Catherine II., squandered a hundred millions of 
dollars upon her various favorites ; scattered diamonds by the 
handfuls, and made gold and silver as common as pebbles among 
her favored courtiers, and bestowed estates equal to provinces, 
and gave away tens of thousands of wretched serfs, as a mere 
^bagatelle, to some recent fawning flatterer ; in the famous St. 
Petersburg, the city of palaces, with its royal and princely 
residences, adorned with Doric, Ionic, and Corinthian columns, 
surmounted by massive friezes, entablatures, and sculptures; 
with its Grecian and Gothic temples, its great squares, its 
spacious streets, its monuments, its warehouses and docks, its 
gardens and boulevards ; Cronstadt with its frowning bastions 
and painted spires ; and in the midst, giving to all an air of 
space, of freedom and dignity, the Neva, thronged by craft of 
all kinds and sizes, from the tiny gondola to the man-of-war, 
and from the mighty merchant ship to the rude barge laden 
with timber and grain ; — in this city of present opulence and 
magnificence, which even in the time of ‘‘ Catherine la Grande^^'" 
as she was pompously styled by the Prince de Ligne, had be- 
come a famous city, lived Ivan Ormandoff, the grandfather of 
Hector. 

On the bank of the Neva, where, midway between the Senate 
House and the Admiralty, stands that most famous of the 


A MOJ^AL INHERITANCE, 


15 


monuments of St. Petersburg — the equestrian statue of Peter 
the Great, erected by the last and the greatest of the five 
women who succeeded him upon the Russian throne — somewliat 
beyond the city’s crowded thoroughfares, was the stately man- 
sion inhabited by the Ormandoff family. 

Ivan Ormandoff was for a time one of the favored coui tiers 
of Catherine II. He had been one of her train wlien she 
made her famous voyage down the Dnieper, when she was 
accompanied by Joseph II., to lay the foundations of a city to 
be called after her name, Ekaterinaslof, The empress laid the 
first stone with great pomp, and the emperor laid the second , 
regarding which memorable ceremony, Joseph remarked in liis 
dry way : “ The empress and I have this day achieved a great 

work : she has laid the first stone of a great city, and I have 
laid the last,^ His half sneering prophecy was fulfilled ; the 
two royal memorial stones of the never-to-he-huilt city of EhaU 
erinaslofy were the sole monuments of one of Catherine’s 
chimeras. 

In the coarse, profligate court of Catlierine II., where 
morals were hopelessly corrupt, and favorities fawned, and the 
criminal extravagance of the court was equalled only in the 
days of Caligula and Heliogabalus ; where the chief minister, 
Potemkin, made a prince by the empress, held the highest 
honors of the empire for twenty years, achieving his infamous 
renown ; living with the magnificence of a sovereign prince ; 
sending his aid-de-camp to ride two or three hundred miles to 
bring him a melon or a pine-apple ; and at other times devour- 
ing with half-savage barbarity raw carrots in his own ante- 
chamber; in such a court, luxurious, profligate, infamous, 
Ivan Ormandoff gave free rein to his coarse and half-barbarian 
nature inherited from a long line of semi-civilized Russian 
ancestry. • 

He joined the imperial cortege when politic Potemkin per- 
suaded Catherine to go and admire herself in her new domin- 
ions of the Crimea and Kuban, which by the second Turkish 
war had been annexed to her domains under the names of 
Taurida and Caucasus. Magnificent were the preparations, 
and gorgeous were the spectacles of this memorable journey. 
The empress and her court were furnished with fourteen car- 
riages upon sledges, while one hundred and sixty were needed 
for the attendants and baggage. Five hundred and sixty re- 
lays of horses waited them at every post, and they travelled 
over the frozen plains in their luxurious sleighs, at the rate of 


16 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


a hundred miles a day. Wherever they stopped, there had 
been erected a temporary palace for the empress, fitted with 
every luxury, and adorned as much as possible like her royal 
residence in St. Petersburg. When they arrived at Khief, the 
empress embarked on the Dnieper, with a fleet of fifty galleys, 
and sailed in state down the river to Cherson. Here the King 
of Poland came to do her homage, and even the Emperor 
Joseph lent his presence to swell the splendor of her state. 
Money, provisions and troops had been conveyed from every 
part of the empire. The Borysthenes was covered with mag- 
nificent galleys ; a hundred and fifty thousand newly equipped 
soldiers escorted the triumphant empress ; deserts were peopled 
as by magic for the occasion, and in the midst of trackless 
wilds palaces were reared for Catherine la Grande with almost 
the marvellous expedition of the stories of the Arabian 
Nights, and Catherine seemed almost to hold in her band the 
famous lamp of Aladdin, such ceaseless handfuls of gold coins 
were thrown from her carriage windows by her favored cour- 
tiers, to the grovelling crow'ds of people fawning on the earth, 
prostrating themselves before their despotic monarch. 

Not satisfied with even such expenditures, Catherine reared 
the splendid palace of the Hermitage, wdthin whose portals it 
pleased her royal fancy to lay aside for a time the imperial 
diadem of all the Russias, and pose as a patron of literature 
and the fine arts ; though she had no taste for music, as she 
could not distinguish one tune from another, and knew nothing 
personally of the merits of paintings beyond their fabulous 
prices. Here at the Hermitage, Catherine surrounded herself 
with men of letters. Lomonozof, the poet ; Sumorokof, the 
dramatic author ; Khetaskof, the writer of tragedies ; Sher- 
ebetoff, the historian ; and Pallas, the naturalist, were favored 
Nvith her patronage. She affected the friendship of French 
winters, entertained Diderot with royal magnificence, and kept 
up a constant correspondence with Voltaire. 

Being admitted to this favored Hermitage not so much for 
mental attainments, though Ivan OrmandoflP was, with all his 
coarse nature, one who affected dilettanteism, or luxurious prof- 
ligacy, according to the humor of his fascinating but depraved 
empress ; but the haughty Catherine, though strong of mind 
and will, was also weakly capricious and inordinately vain ; 
and he who fawned the lowest was for the time being, per- 
chance, her acknowledged favorite. But woe to the privileged 
courtier, one day received at the Hermitage with royal favor, 


A MORAL mMERlTARlCE, 


17 

the next coldly discarded, receiving the ominous message of 
the haughty Catherine to travel. Well did the discarded 
favorites understand this royal caprice. 

“ I am tired of him,” she would say ; “ his ignorance makes 
me blush. He can speak nothing but Russian, He must 
travel in France and England to learn other ^languages.” The 
courtier who received this intelligence, was not long in prepar- 
ing his traveling carriage, nor quick in returning from his 
foreign travels. 

This ominous message had been sent to Ivan OrmandofF, and 
thus the grandfather of Hector OrmandofF became a Russian 
exile, and London instead of St. Petersburg, became his per- 
manent residence. 

It was the year 1793. England had entered into a treaty 
of alliance with Russia, Prussia, Austria, Naples, Spain and 
Portugal, against France. The terrible Revolution convulsed 
poor France from centre to circumference. Violence filled the 
land, terror reigned everywhere. The ominous tocsin tolled 
its nightly knell of death. Blood flowed like a river through 
the streets of Paris. Louis XVI. had paid with his head the 
penalty of his royal heritage of ancestral weaknesses and 
crimes. Bread or blood! was the war-cry of the starving 
canaille. 

The insatiable red guillotine plied its keen and awful knife. 
Even Robespierre, not yet wholly brutalized by ambition and 
murder, was heard to exclaim : “ I am sick of the Revolu- 
tion ! ” La Gonciergerie, Paris* prison, grim and grey, with 
dungeons damp and foul, floors covered with mud, walls trick- 
ling with filthy water, cells furnished only with tattered pallet, 
broken chairs, coarse and unclean bedding, had received within 
its frowning portals poor Marie Antoinette, the former mis- 
tress of the gorgeous salons of Versailles and Trianon, Fon- 
tainebleau and Marly-le-Roi. And as that ominous year 
counted out its terrible roll of blood-stained hours, Marie An- 
toinette, the Queen of France, and Madame Roland, the 
Queen of the Republic, within a month’s fleeting passage, 
mounted the slippery stairs of the fatal scaffold. Swift and 
keen the cruel knife descended, and the earthly lives of those 
two heroic women went out, victims of that awful Reign of 
Terror. Well might Madame Roland exclaim: O Liberty ! 
what crimes are committed in thy name ! ” 

Among the emigrants who fled from France, lest their titled 
heads might, perchance, be' the next victims of La Guillotine ! 

Z 


A ^ORAL inheritance. 


l8 

— insatiable, red terror ! — La Quilloime^ zealously earning its 
diabolical renown ! — was the infamously famous Madame du 
Barry, last favorite of Louis XY, 

After the death of “ Louis the Beloved,” afterwards called 
the thoroughly despised,” Madame du Barry lived in mag 
niiicent splendor in the Pavilion de Luciennes., on the borders 
of the forest of St. Germain. She kept up almost regal state 
by means of the immense riches which had been given to her by 
Louis XV. The old Duke de Brissac still remained attached 
to the favorite, and at the first outbreak of the Revolution, 
deeming France unsafe, Madame du Barry, with the help of 
the duke, buried a large part of her wealth — in the shape of 
diamonds, jewels, and plate — at the foot of a tree in her park 
at Luciennes ; and then she fled to England. 

After the massacre of the Duke de Brissac at Versailles, 
Madame du Barry, not wishing to impart to any one else the 
secret of her buried treasures, ventured back to France, intend- 
ing to secure her diamonds and return to England. But 
through the treachery of a young negro, Zamore, whom 
Madame du Barry had befriended as her protege, she was 
betrayed to the Revolutionary Committee of Luciennes, and 
peiished by the fatal knife of the guillotine. She alone, of all 
the women executed in the French Revolution, died a coward, 
filling the air with her piercing cries, shrieking : Life ! 

Life! for my repentance! All my riches to the nation for my 
life ! ” She dishonored the scaffold as she had dishonored the 
throne. 

Amongst the titled French ladies fleeing from France at the 
same time with Madame du Barry, was a Mademoiselle Tarenfe, 
who was descended from one of the oldest noble families of 
France. Ivan Ormandoff, being a widower a^ the time of his 
exile from Russia — having lost his young wife, Natalia, some 
years before, and having buried also his only son in Russia — 
met, and wooed, and wed, the handsome French refugee, Made- 
moiselle Tarente, similar misfortunes having drawn together 
tiiese two diverse natures. The father of Hector Ormandoff 
was the son of this couple. 

But the pretty French mother did not long survive the 
reverses of fortunes she had endured ; and ere Napoleon Bona- 
parte had been proclaimed emperor, Marie Tarente Ormandoff 
was laid in her grave in English soil ; and her young son, 
Camille Ormandoff, was left motherless. 

Ivan Ormandoff was a man of education, a fluent linguist ; 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


19 


but his keen coarse intellect had been moulded by Voltaire, 
until he had become an open and sneering atheist ; quoting 
glibly from his talented but infidel hero ; whose writings lie 
had been led to study, in order to make himself more import- 
ant to Catherine II., who affected great admiration for Vol- 
taire. 

Fortunately for his son, the boy had inherited, with his 
French name, a religious nature from his lovely, refined 
mother; for Marie Tarente had been one of those pure souls, 
whom not even the profligacy of those times could taint ; nor 
could the avowed infidelity of her native land — where God was 
ignored, religion was denied, and human reason worshipped as 
the supreme power — uproot from her nature a devout belief in 
the Omnipotence of God and the Divinity of Christ. Marie 
Tarente was descended from a noble family of Huguenots, whq 
rallied to the standard of Jeanne d’Albret, Queen of Navarre. 
The infamous Catherine de Medici at that time ruled France, 
though the nominal head was her weak and wicked son, Charles 
IX. History has never presented the pictures of two mothers 
more utterly diverse than is presented in the lives of Catherine 
de Medici and Jeanne d’Albret. France ran red with blood. 
Tlie terrible tocsin at midnight tolled forth the death -doom of 
one hundred thousand lives. The wild shrieks of the dying 
freighted the air of France with heart-curdling wailings from 
centre to circumference. French soil was deluged with the 
blood of her people. The blasphemous curses of the fiendish 
murderers polluted the very air of heaven, until it seemed as 
though the furies of hell were let loose upon that realm, to 
wreak upon the helpless people the infernal hate of the arch- 
demon himself. 

Who was the diabolical instigator of this atrocious work ? 
Alas, a woman ! and that woman Catherine de Medici. The 
soul of a child was tutored in every vice of which human 
nature is capable. His childish lips were taught to pronounce 
the most terrible blasphemies ; his kind heart was mocked and 
sneered at, and tempted with every ensnaring device of vile 
and polluting pleasures offered by the most dissolute and allur- 
ing companions ; until no wickedness seemed too great to be 
undertaken, no degrading diversion, too low to be indulged in. 
His constitution was purposely weakened, his mind purposely 
dwarfed and debased, that his life might be short, that his will 
might be broken, and that another’s ambitious power might be 
increased, even though it cost the death of body and soul of 


20 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


the helpless victim. Who was this fiend incarnate, who could 
thus toy with a human soul, hourly dragging it nearer and 
nearer the yawning jaws of the bottomless pit of perdition ? 
That one was a woman, the mother of her quivering victim ; 
this malevolent Gorgon was Catherine de Medici! 

Turn now to another picture. “ France was the arena of 
woe upon which the Catholics and Protestants of Europe 
hurled themselves against each other. Catherine, breathing 
vengeance, headed the Catholic army. Jeanne, calm yet in- 
flexible, was recognized as the head of the Protestant leaders.’’ 
There were frequent skirmishes and battles. Many thousand 
Protestants had perished. The Catholics, waxing stronger, pre- 
pared for a decisive engagement. The two forces met upon 
the field of Jarnac in 1568. In this dreadful contest the Prot- 
estants were defeated, and their brave leader, Prince of Conde, 
was slain. But at this critical moment the heroic courage of 
Jeanne d’Albret was undaunted. Presenting herself before the 
terrified Huguenots, she personally encouraged the panic-stricken 
soldiers. This masterly address of a woman to the soldiers of 
the Reformation has something truly Napoleonic in its clear 
ringing cadences, and something vastly grander than Napoleon’s 
aim, for it was inspired by a desire to uphold and advance God’s 
kingdom, rather than an ambitions thirst for increased power. 
Whatever we may think of upholding any cause by the use of 
the sword, we must admire these soul-stirring words of this 
great and dauntless woman. 

“ Soldiers, you weep ! But does the memory of Conde de- 
mand nothing more than tears? Will you be satisfied with 
profitless regrets ? No I Let us unite, and summon back onr 
courage to defend a cause which can never perish. Does despair 
overpower you ? Despair! that shameful failing of weak na- 
tures ! Can it be known to you, noble warriors and Christian 
men? Wlien I, the queen, hope still, is it for you to fear? 
Because Conde is dead, is all therefore lost? Does our cause 
cease to be just and holy? No! God, who placed arms in his 
hand for our defence, and who has already rescued you from 
perils innumerable, has raised up brothers-in-arms worthy to 
succeed him, and to fight for the cause of our country and the 
truth ! . . . . To these brave warriors I add my son ; 

make proof of his valor. Soldiers, I offer you everything in 
my power to bestow — my dominions, my treasures, my life, and 
that which is dearer to me than all — my children ! I make 
here solemn oath before you all, and you know me too well to 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


21 


doubt my word ; I swear to defend to my last sigh the holy 
cause which now unites us, which is that of honor and of truth. 

And what does history tell us of the influence of these two 
mothers? All Catherine de Medici ^s vile scheming came to 
naught. She and her sons died with the curse of the nation on 
their heads, while the son of the illustrious and faithful Hugue- 
not, Jeanne d’Albret, sat upon the throne of France. 

Such were the brave spirits who battled for their Christian 
belief ; and a vital spark from one of these undaunted souls 
had descended to Marie Tarente, and became the inheritance 
of Camille Ormandoflf. But the battle-ground for him was his 
own nature, where the Christian faith of liis mother must do 
valiant warfare against the evil inherited from his father’s self- 
ish, infidel and coarse nature. 

Tiie boy was taught by his beautiful French mother to pray, 
and at her knee he learned of the Story of the Cross ; and 
when his idolized mother was taken from him, the weeping 
child recalled, like some fair dream, the loving eyes, the small 
white hands smoothing his clustering curls, the beaming smile, 
and often in his memory rang a low and tender voice, recount- 
ing once again the beautiful stories of that Book she had taught 
him to reverence as the Word of God. 

Oh, mother! remember that the soul of your child is a very 
part of your own. How white then should he the soul of every 
mother I 

Ivan Ormandoflf had given himself up for too many years to 
selfish and coarse pleasures, to be willing to be taxed with the 
care of a motherless boy ; especially, as that young child, in 
the innocent prattle of his dead mamma, let fall from his baby 
lips so many words of startling discomfiture to the worldly 
atheist ; whose soul, seared by the fires of lawless passion and 
self-worship, was nevertheless subject to fits of angry remorse, 
which, instead of awakening repentance, only caused him to 
plunge deeper into sin, to stifle, if possible, the stings of an un- 
dying, though unheeded, conscience. Sin, remorse, and con- 
science, are t^’uly hell enough for any soul I 

Camille Ormandoflf was placed by his father in an English 
school. As Catherine II. was dead, the exile of Ivan Orman- 
doflf was ended, and he returned to his Russian estate. We 
need not follow the old man in his last days. He died as he 
had lived — hardened, unbelieving and bitter. Though the in- 
fluence of his sweet wife, Marie, had not subdued his nature, it 
had awakened in him a half-envying irritation, which did not 


^2 


A MOl^AL inheritance. 


lead to repentance and reform, but rather to an angry remorse, 
which prompted Ivan OrmandofF to curse the world and fate, 
and accuse destiny and mankind of being the enemies of his 
happiness ; whereas, his worst enemy was himself. 

When a soul has chosen evil continually, and the character 
is thereby fixed in evil tendencies, the presence of the good fre^ 
quently increases the irritation and rebellion of the depraved 
will. For, when men have exercised their free wills in making 
evil choices, they seek the society of only such as themselves. 
For the very purity and loveliness of a character, which has 
been formed by continuous choices of good, becomes to the 
wicked such a constant reminder of their own fallen condition, 
that remorse,^ not repentance^ becomes a torture. And the dif- 
ference between remorse and repentance may be as far apart 
as Heaven and hell. The devils in Hades are tormented by the 
keenest remorse, but it does not lead them to the slightest at- 
tempt to repent. 

Ivan Ormandoff, in his bitter, selfish old age, stormed at the 
world ; cursed his unlucky destiny, as he called it ; lived in ab- 
ject fear of death, and yet hourly hated his life. To his 
dependants he was a cruel tyrant ; to his equals he was a 
growling fault-finder; to his superiors in worldly rank he was 
a fawning toady. Hating his life, yet ever reaching forth 
with selfish clutch to snatch some new honor or diversion, 
which might, perchance, for a moment, allay his terrible 
unrest. 

Ah ! old age is a beneficent friend, or a remorseless foe, ac- 
cording as the earthly career has been noble or ignoble. On- 
ward it strides, with noiseless but unceasing step, placing the 
laurels of noble achievement upon the brows of the great and 
good ; or stripping olF the cloaks of hypocrisy and sham from 
the evil lives of the wicked, leaving their miserable, miserly 
souls to shiver and groan in the cold blasts of well-deserved 
contempt and neglect. 

“ Acts are the folding forth of character, and as the act is 
bad or good, well done or ill, is the character stronger, and 
fitter for higher ends, or deteriorated and nearer destruction. 
‘ Behold, I come quickly to give unto every man according as 
his work shall be.’ We are justified by faith, but in the 
Heaven which we reach along the path of faith, we are re- 
warded itccording to our works.” 

A modern preacher thus beautifully sums up the opportuni- 
ties of life : Time gone is gone forever. An opportunity 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


23" 

passed the thousandth part of a second, has by one leap reached 
the other side of a great eternity. In the autumn, when the 
birds migrate, you look up and see the sky black with wings, 
and the flocks stretching out into many leagues of air. And 
so to-day, I look up and see two large wings in full sweep. \ 
They .are the wings of the flying year. They are followed by a 
flock of three hundred and sixty-five, and they are the flying 
days. Each of the flying days is followed by twenty-four, and 
they are the flying hours ; and each of these is Ibllowed by 
sixty, and these are the flying minutes ; and each of these is 
followed by sixty, and these are the flying seconds. Where 
did this great flock start from ? Eternity past. Where are 
they bound? Eternity to come. You might as well go gunning 
for the quails that whistled last year in the meadows, or the 
robins that last year caroled in the sky, as to try to fetch down 
and bag one of the past opportunities of your life.” 

Carlyle thus expresses it : “ What is done,, is done ; has 

already blended itself with the boundless, ever- living, ever- 
working Universe ; and will also work there for good or for 
evil, openly or secretly, throughout all time.” 

Goaded by the stings of a never-dying conscience ; lashed 
by the keen cuts of an avenging remorse ; tortured by the irre- 
sistible impulses of a depraved nature ; Ivan Ormandoff, with 
half-satanic cruelty and half self-contempt, determined to leave 
to his posterity the ghastly diary of his evil life. His motive 
was partly a supposed desire to warn others from following his 
evil example. But this commendable impulse was overshad- 
owed, and, at length, wholly overborne, by a diabolical pride in 
the very vastness of his ignoble deeds; and the pages of this 
shameful legacy were penned with a mephistophelian delight 
in the thought that this record would not only present him to 
his descendants as a very King of Knaves,, but would reveal to 
them the tameness of their own pursuit of base pleasures, by 
comparison with his own bold infamy. It would seem impos- 
sible to believe that there could be souls black enough to be 
capable of such malevolent motives. But truth is stranger 
than fiction, and the page of history is polluted by many such 
nefarious records. The destiny of this iniquitous diary will be 
noted hereafter, 


24 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


CHAPTER III. 

We shall not follow closely the life of Camille Ormando-ff. 
Our story has more to do with Hector Ormandoff and his old 
grandfather. 

William Conant Church, in his recent sketch of John Erics- 
son, says : “ The Chinese ennoble the ancestors of a man 

who distinguishes himself by exceptional accomplishment. The 
custom has its foundation in sound reason ; great men, good 
men, useful men, are the product of the high thought and noble 
aspiration, the useful labors and the self-discipline of their 
ancestors. In the curious kaleidoscopic changes of character 
produced by the admixture of bloods ’’ — (and the statement 
of Mr. Church might be broadened by adding, “ the admixture 
of souls’’) — “ almost every pattern may appear, but none the 
material for which could not be found in ancestral inherit- 
ance.” 

It will be observed, that along the line of maternal ancestry, 
Hector Ormandoff received the legacy of high moral princi- 
ples, heroic unselfishness, and Christian belief. A modern 
writer says : ‘‘ In order to get a fair start, some would have 

to go back to the father and mother, and get them corrected ; 
yea, to the grandfather and grandmother, and have their lives 
corrected ; for some of you ar.e suffering from bad hereditary 
influences which started a hundred years ago.” 

Camille Ormandoff, through his mother’s Huguenot ancestry, 
received a nature in which the good preponderated over the 
evil of his father’s Russian ancestry of wild, coarse, semi- civil- 
ized souls. The historical fact -is as yet unrefuted, that all 
great men have, without exception, been the sons of mothers 
possessing great qualities of mind ; though sometimes those 
strong characteristics were directed by evil, rather than good 
influences ; for greatness, in an historical sense, is not always 
synonymous with goodness. 

Experience seems to point to a very significant fact : That 
the nature of a son partakes more largely of the mother’s 
characteristics, than those of the father ; while the nature of a 



A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


25 


daughter is more apt to be fashioned after the father, wlien the 
natures of the parents are widely diverse. In cases where the 
mating of souls has been of congenial natures, the character- 
istics of both sons and daughters will generally be more simi- 
lar to each other. This explains the fact of such a soul as 
Abraham Lincoln, being the son of such a shiftless character 
as Thomas Lincoln ; because the mother possessed in a large 
degree, the very characteristics which were afterwards devel- 
oped so grandly in her illustrious son. What a touching little 
picture reveals this fact ! It was the day when Abe Lincoln 
first started for school, when seven years of age. 

This interesting scene is thus described : 

“A great day for yon, my boy !” said his mother; “it's 
better than silver and gold to know how to read.’’ 

Do the best you can,” added his father; “it’s only a short 
time that you have to learn.” 

“ I’ll try,” replied the lad, and he went off in high spirits. 

“ There’s not much need of telling him to do his best,” said 
his mother ; “ he’ll do that anyhow.” 

“ It won’t do him any hurt to jog his mind a little,” re- 
sponded the father, whose good opinion of his boy was not a 
whit below that of the mother. “ He’s so set on learnin’ to 
read, that I don’t think there’s much danger of his not doin’ 
well.” 

“ He would make a good scholar if he had a chance,” con- 
tinued the mother ; “ but there’s nothing here for poor white 
folks to enjoy, so we can’t expect much.” 

“ The schoolmaster can’t do much for him, for he don’t know 
much himself,” said Thomas Lincoln. 

“ He may know enough to make him a reader,” replied his 
wife. 

“He might, if I could afford to send him long enough ; but 
the longest time will be only a few weeks.” 

“ Perhaps that will do,” said the mother. “ Only get him 
started, and he will go on learning himself, he is so eager. 
Won’t have to beat things into his head much ! ” 

“ That may be ; but there’s writin’ too. I know what it is 
to go without either.” 

“ Providence may open a way yet,” said his wife. “ It 
ain’t best to borrow too much trouble. We must have faith in 
God.” 

“I don’t dispute that; but faith won’t learn Abe to read and 
write.” 


26 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


“I’m not sure about that; it may open the way. Faith 
kept Daniel out of the lion’s jaws, and it may keep Abe out of 
the jaws of ignorance.” 

And so the mother’s faith was inherited by the son ; and 
that calm faith, and sterling will to do the right thing at the 
right time, tided our nation through its greatest crisis ; and 
thanks to Abraham Lincoln’s mother, our country was pre- 
served through the brave soul she bequeatlied to her son. 
Had Nancy Hanks possessed the same nature as the good- 
hearted, but shiftless, Thomas Lincoln, Americans may well 
ask : What would have been the fate of our country to-day 
without the hand of an Abraham Lincoln at the helm ? 

Camille Ormandolf found several congenial friends among 
his English schoolmates ; and one lad must be mentioned, be- 
cause his friendship wielded a great influence over the life of 
Camille Ormandolf, and through his acquaintanceship arose 
one of the links in the chain of circumstances which helped to 
mould the character and shape the destiny of Hector Or- 
man doff. 

We have not space to go into the details of Camille Orman- 
doff ’s career, and shall merely note those events bearing par- 
ticularly upon the history of his son Hector. Camille’s favorite 
school- fellow was Cliarles Carisbrook, whose father was de- 
scended from one of Oliver Cromwell’s brave old “ Ironsides.” 
These staunch soldiers of the Commonwealth were chosen by 
Cromwell not for rank, but, as he described them, “ strictly 
men of religion.” They were “a lovely company,” Cromwell 
declared, with soldierly pride. No blasphemy, drinking, dis- 
order, nor impiety, were suffered in their ranks. “ Not a man 
swears but he pays' his twelve pence,” was the strict rule. 
When complaints were made concerning such disregard of men 
of rank, Cromwell wrote to the Committee of Association of 
the Eastern Counties: 

“It maybe it provokes your spirit to see such plain men 
made captains of horse. It had been well that men of honor 
and birth had entered into their employments; but why do 
they not appear? But, seeing it is necessary the work must 
go on, better plain men than none; but best to have men pa- 
tient of wants, faithful and conscientious in their employment, 
and such, I hope, these will approve themselves.” 

And again he declared : 

“ I had rather have a plain russet-coated captain that knows 
>\'hat he fights for^ and loves what he knows, than what you 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


27 


call a gentleman, and is notliing else, thougli I honor a gentle- 
man that is so indeed. A few honest men are better than num- 
bers. If you choose honest, godly men to be captains of horse, 
honest men will follow them.” 

No wonder such men were successful! in the momentous 
battle of Naseby, with Cromwell heading his brave “Iron- 
sides,” and turning the tide of affairs by a vigorous charge ; as 
Cromwell himself puts it in his quaint fashion : 

“I can say of this Naseby, that when I saw the enemy draw 
up and march in gallant order toward us, and we, a company 
of poor ignorant men, to seek to order our battle — the general 
having commanded me to order all the horse — I could not, rid- 
ing alone about my business, but smile out to God in praises, 
in assurance of victory, because God would, by things that are 
not, bring to naught things that are. Of which I had great 
assurance, and God did it.” 

Stanch ancestry this, for their privileged posterity ! Heroic 
times make heroic men and women ; and heroic solils bequeath 
the inestimable boon of heroism to their favored descendants. 
’Tis true, that luxury, and wealth, and consequent self-indul- 
gence, and unprofitable leisure, may seem for a time to efface 
the spark of unselfish patriotism, and self-denying consecra- 
tion ; but the fire of heroism is not extinguished, only smoth- 
ered, and will blaze forth again with rekindled glory when 
emergencies arise. Witness the records of our late Civil 
War I 

Camille Ormandoflf spent many vacations at the home of 
Charles Carisbrook. In this Christian and refined circle, the 
lonely boy was comforted and inspired by the ennobling influ- 
ences which pervaded a home where the Golden Rule was the 
standard of conduct, and where human love was sanctified by 
such sentiments as Oliver Cromwell expressed in a letter to his 
son : “You will think, perhaps, I need not advise you to love 
your wife ! The Lord teach you how to do it — or else it will 
be done ill-favoredly. Though marriage be no instituted sac- 
rament, yet where love is, this union aptly resembles that 
of Christ and His Church. If you can truly love your wife, 
what love doth Christ bear to His Church, and every poor 
soul therein — Who gave Himself for it, and to it! ” 

Such was the spii’it of the home where Camille Ormandoff 
was privileged to pass many months during his school and 
colh^ge life. At Oxford, Camille was still the favorite chum 
of Charles Carisbrook^ and still liis chosen companion in col- 


28 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


lege vacations ; and there was to be a yet tenderer tie between 
them. 

Ilermine Carisbrook was a true daiigliter of her fatlier's an- 
cestral house. Stanch was her nature, as that one of Crom- 
wells old “ Ironsides,’’ from whom she was a descendant. 
Hermine Carisbrook was strong in nature, without being mas- 
culine. In her ambitious aspirings she forgot none of the 
“shy graces” which give to woman her incomparable charm. 
Having inherited heroism, through the bi’ave souls of her pro- 
genitors, it seemed to her the most natural thing in the world, 
that she should live for some high purpose, and that she 
should consecrate her talents to the benefaction of those around 
her. Good deeds were as much a matter-of-course in her daily 
life, as Patti’s witching w^arblings are scarcely to be marvelled 
at, when one learns of her musical ancestry. It Is not words 
alone, but deeds we need, to uplift mankind. Heroic souls 
seldom prate, but rather do the nohU thing — make smoother 
the rough jdaces in the hard liv(*s of sorrowing men and 
women. As another has so beautifully expressed it: 

‘i- There are lost pieces of silver — aye', and of gold — which 
have long ago been missing from the Father’s treasury, and 
are trampled under foot of man and ])east alike — lives crow'ded 
so full of cruelty, and penury, and vice, that, though they are 
God’s children, they themselves do not even dream it. But 
if you can find them in the mire, if you w ill w^ash them with 
your tears, and burnish them back to brightness and beauty by 
your patient, loving touch, you wdll find on them the image of 
llim AVho made them, and the superscription of His immortal 
children. Light the candle of your love, and sw^eep diligently 
till you find them.” 

With such a nature as Hermine Carisbrook possessed, the 
lonely Camille w^as not neglected. When, as a boy, he made 
his visits as her brother’s friend, her girlish sympathy was ex- 
pressed by many protty deeds of childish attention ; all the 
more winning, because they w^ere accompanied by such a 
charming little hesitancy of manner, which revealed her mod- 
est shrinking from any forthputting of her owm personality, 
together with a quick readiness to do the promptings of her own 
kind impulses. 

Her friendly deeds were done with a coyness irresistibly de- 
lightful^ at the same time, with a self-forgetfulness untainted 
by the slightest trace of vanity. 

As Camille and Hermine grew older, their friendship 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


29 


changed from a frank good comrade^liip to a more silent and 
rarely revealed respect ; and when Camille became an Oxford 
graduate, and Hermine was released from masters and gov- 
ernesses, a casual observer might have thought the young lady 
and manly youth were almost indifferent to each other. 
Through such gradual stages must a love pass, when the two 
have been childish comrades together. 

In Camille's life Hermine had become the ruling influence, 
which, almost imperceptibly to himself, moulded every thought, 
and actuated every deed. Well for him that his mother's 
nature preponderated in his soul over the coarser traits inherit- 
ed from his father. For even as it was, fierce were the mental 
battles fought by him, over and over again, between the diverse 
characteristics bequeathed to him through the moral mesalliance 
of the souls of his parents. 

In the presence of Hermine, he always found himself in- 
spired by the nobler attributes of his nature ; and would, from 
time to time, imagine that his moral victory was complete. But 
again, as he was confronted by the a^uring temptations of the 
gay London world, with money to spend, and leisure on his 
hands, and wild companion^ around him, the dare-devil nature 
of old Ivan Ormandoff would for a time assert itself, bringing 
the usual train of evil spirits, sin, remorse and despair. 

“ Sometimes the sins we thought were slain, keep up their 
miserable lives; as the Irishman, who cut off a turtle's head, 
was surprised to see the head moving, some hours after, the 
jaws still opening and shutting. ‘ Surely the beast is dead, but 
he isn't sinsible of it! ' said he." 

Think you Camille Ormandoff was irresponsible because of 
inherited evils? Not in the least. No pessimistic theory of 
fatalism, or blind destiny, can excuse individual sin, or deny 
individual responsibility. “ The iniquity of the fathers," is, in 
truth, “visited upon the children, unto the third and fourth 
generation;" and these iniquitous traits must be fought by suc- 
cessive generations ; for as it takes three or five genei'ations to 
make a gentleman, in the opinion of sticklers for family prec- 
edence, so it often takes several generations of moral conflicts, 
aided by admixtures of nobler and purer natures, to eradicate 
the evils bequeathed by some go(ll(*ss and wicked ancestor. But 
to each individual is given free will, which renders each respon- 
sible for his own choices of good or evil. “ Duty — that is some- 
thing due ; due — that is something owed ; owed — that is some- 
thing one ought ; " and what conscience prompts as an oughty 


30 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


that free will presents as^ a choice, and necessitates personal 
responsibility in the result. 

A modern writer says: “Napoleon will always remain for 
men an intensely interesting study. No leaf of history presents 
such an incarnate will, not even that illustrious page writ with 
the deeds of Julius Caesar. And every fresh scrutiny of this 
prodigious character brings more clearly into view, as time 
mellows tlie acts and clarifies the vision, the transcendent truth 
that not by will alone is man supremely great. Napolepn 
the Emperor, grows more and more lop-sided as he recedes 
into the domain of eternal values. It is very mucli the same 
with Plato, who represents in reason what Napoleon represents 
in will. Equally inadequate and lop-sided are the philosophies 
which centred the high estate of man on one of these points : 
* I think, therefore I am ; * or Kant’s attempt to better it by 
saying : ‘ I will, therefore I am.’ All along the horizon of the 
later man is the improved gauge, seen in literature, in conduct, 
and in art. There is no dodging it. ‘ I think, J will, I 
ought I ’ ” 

“ Wliether here or there, life stays not, but rushes on apace, 
and men must work and strive ; but let us do it bravely and 
fitly, with all our strength.” 

Old Ivan Ormandoff’s reckless soul bequeathed to his son 
terrible tussles, which required all the heroism of his Huguenot 
blood to endure and conquer. All around us^ even within us, 
are these soul-conflicts. “ What’s done, we partly niay com- 
pute ; but know not what’s resisted.” In these soul gladiato- 
rial combats, we are not left unaided by aught save ancestral 
traits ; for the Great Captain of Salvation, will make sure the 
victory, even against the most inveterate inheidted evils ; but 
“ it is a high, solemn, and awful thought for every individual, 
that his earthly influence which had a commencement here, 
will never, through all ages, w^ere he tlie very meanest of all, 
hav(i an end.” 

We cannot dwell upon the details in the youthful careers of 
Camille OrmandofF and Hermine Carisbrook. We have noted 
merely the ancestral influences bearing upon their characters, 
and must pass on to the life of their son. Hector, to watch the 
further development of those inherited characteristics. Camille 
Ormandoff, having married Hermine, had no desire to return 
to his Russian ancestral estates, but determined to make Eng- 
land his home. Old Ivan Ormandoff, who died while Camille 
was at college, had added a codicil to his wdll, w^herein he 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


31 

stated, that his diary, ^Yhich was sealed with his ancestral crest, 
should not be opened by his son until he should have reached 
the age of thirty ; and if by that time, he should be the 
father of a son, the seal of the diary should not be broken by 
him, but remain intact until that grandson should be twenty- 
two years of age ; when the diary should pass into his hands, 
and the seal be broken by him and the diary read. 

As Camille Ormandoff had died at the age of twenty-eight, 
leaving his son Hector a child of eight, with a young sister five 
years old ; Hector Ormandoff, having reached the age of 
twenty-two the week before the opening of our story, had re- 
ceived from his lawyers the memorable sealed packet, and for 
the first time had become cognizant of the character of his 
paternal grandfather. 

It was indeed a ghastly legacy! All night long Hector 
read, and pondered, and battled with the unseen foe. Many 
times before he had suffered keen self-contempt, in his nobler 
moments, and resolved again and again to devote his life to 
some higher purpose than selfish pleasures. The wealth 
inherited from his grandfather, had made possible a pleasure- 
seeking life of travel and adventure. In his English home, 
with his unselfish and benevolent mother, he was always con- 
scious of the promptings of his higher ideals, and frequently 
resolved, that ere long he would set about some earnest pur- 
pose in life. But procrastination is not alone the thief of time, 
but also the thief of character ; and it is only when the fleet- 
ing now is seized upon and filled with noble action, or hallowed 
by holy thought, that good intentions blossom into lofty living. 

We must look once again upon the two young men seated in 
Hector OrmandoflT’s luxurious apartments, upon that sunny 
afternoon in gay Paris. Will Whorton had been Hector’s 
companion in many wild adventures, and being possessed of a 
reckless and selfish nature, he was apparently troubled by no 
qualms of conscience, nor stings of remorse. He was sowing 
liis ‘‘wild oats,” he declared. The harvest from wild oats is, 
ever an unprofitable crop ; but when the angels are the reap- 
ers, and eternity the scales, such a harvest will furnish only 
the chaff for final destruction. 

‘ And so you leave Paris, to-morrow, Hector?” 

“ Yes, Will. My mother’s letter informs me that circum- 
stances have somewhat changed with us. Certain large invest- 
ments have turned out unfoitunately, and this necessitates my 
returning to England and entering into some profession or pur- 




32 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


suit, instead of spending my time, as heretofore, in selfish 
plen sure-seeking.” 

“ Weir, hon voyage., old boy ! Mademoiselle Blanche will be 
waiting lier escort, and so adieu. After all, with your notions, 
perhaps England will be better than Paris. If I had to take 
doses of remorse after all of my wild exploits, as you do, I 
might conclude with you, that such things didn’t always pay. 
But when I get to that point, 1 shall think life not worth the 
living.” 

“ But, Will, when the end comes, what then ? ” 

“ Oh, don’t go to moralizing, old fellow ! A pistol or the 
Seine, perchance ! — Such chaps as myself, usually end some 
such way ; but while we live, we’re jolly dogs ! — Au revoirJ ” 
— and the careless young man sauntered out into the deepening 
twilight, and a few years afterwards, ended his profitless life 
by a pistol, as he had prophesied. 

The next morning Hector Ormandoff returned to England. 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


33 


CHAPTER IV. 

The Muse of History doth the tale unfold, of that most 
famous strife, the War of Roses called ; in which usurping 
claimant of Lancaster House, did war with rightful sovereign, 
Duke of York. Their chosen emblems, roses, red and white, 
did stamp the wearer ; as a partisan of the usurper, with his 
badge of red ; or favoring the rightful line of kings, should his 
proud emblem be the pale white rose. 

Our interest lies not now in that past strife, in which the 
White Rose gained its lost domain ; and with the help of Cupid 
and his darts, the War of Roses ended in a match of hearts ; 
for the proud Red Rose, to retain the tlirone, w^as mated 
to the royal Rose of Wliite — symbol, thereafter, of all sov- 
ereign power. 

This liistory typifies a modern strife which wages now in 
this fair land of ours. The cause of contest is no monarch's 
throne, combated for by bloodshed and the sword ; but 'tis a 
war for precedence and power, in a proud kingdom, fairer than 
all lands above which Phoebus guides his chariot of fire ; or 
around which, Neptune’s white-maned steeds rush madly. 

This worthy kingdom may be called the Realm of IMind, and 
the contestants for this imperial land are Nature’s noblemen, 
lords of most ancient line, who wear the royal badge of genius 
— true Bhie-hram^. Their opponents most proudly claim 
di?scent from some Dutch ancestor, in whose veins, perchance, 
a drop of titled blood just saves the plebeian taint of wooden- 
shoed and cabbage-loving sires from handing down their trade- 
marks with their gold. Or, peradventure, those of Puritanic 
race have right the mighty awful boast to make, that some an- 
tique relation, in historic past, did cross the ocean in a famous 
ship — known as the Mayflower — of revered renown, and did 
bequeath to tlieir posterity the right to wear the badge of 
true Blue-blood. 

^ Now these contestants in this social war, strive each for 
conquest and the victor’s prize. The true nobility — most 
ancient race of lords — the Aristocracy of Brains — as may be 

3 


34 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


called, wear for their badge the pure white rose of Genius ; 
plucked from the Gardens of Delight; planted by angels. 
For these most royal souls trace their descent from the divine 
spark of spirit-life, which stamped man as an image of his 
God, and heir of Fleaven. 

While the aristocrats of prized Blue-hlooL content them- 
selves with earthly roses for their badge ; whate’er is fashion- 
able in the social world ; — blush roses — or the costly Jacqui- 
minot; it matters not, so they do smell of gold, and bespeak 
13ortly pocket-books. 

Tlie prize for which this mighty war is waged is called Suc- 
cess ; or termed oft, Social Prestige; or else, perchance, politi- 
cal power is sought ; or oftener still, the rank which gold can 
buy. And thus this Modern War of Roses, still grows hot ; 
while Blue-bloods strive to overcome royal Blue-brains, and 
boast tlieir petty claims to regal rights, founded on shams, 
and shows, and social snobs, whose drop of antique blood has 
stamped them mental dudes. 

As history must ofttimes describe the lives of individuals as 
well as those of nations, this Modern War of Roses may be 
understood with greater clearness by a brief review of certain 
characters of much renown, and most revered by their respect- 
ive parties. 

In Gotham City, in a noted square, there dwelt in lordly 
style and stately grandeur Darius Dude, and his most estima- 
ble frow, the proud Pomona ; and a daughter fair, known by 
the name of beautiful Andromeda ; together with a son most 
promising ; for surely none before have so well merited a 
father’s name as this their heir, who bore the weighty title of 
Diogenes; and in his mien, and dress, and mental caliber, most 
truly did exemplify the race of Dudes. This family boasted 
their most proud descent from Diedrick Dudeman, their ances- 
tral sire ; who, portly in his figure, portly in his purse, and 
portly also in his pride, wedded a fair lady of a titled l ace of 
German barons. He, being of more lowly birth, it was re- 
quired by the fair 6ne’s relations — who spurning not his gold, 
were loth to mate with commoner name than theirs — that he 
should purify his lowly surname by retaining only such a por- 
tion as should distinguish him from others of his race. Thus 
might his gold buy him a place amongst them, and Lady Dude 
be thus henceforth removed from contact with the plebeian family ^ 
known to the world as the Dutch Dudemans. The grandson 
of old Diedrick, young Darius, wandered across the sea and 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


35 


landed in a town they term the Huh — of much respected note. 
And finding one both fair and of a goodly race — for that same 
famous ship of great renown, was mentioned in Iier faniily 
records — he soon was wed ; and tlius Diogenes came fairly by 
his boasted true Blue-blood, 

Andromeda Dude, thus to a friend remarked : “ I really 

think that we should strive to form a dear dramatic club, of 
actors amateur. Our spirit^s then could soar into the realm 
divine, and feel the ecstacy of deep emotion.” 

So in due time the club was formed, and called in honor of 
its fair originator, the Dudine Club. And rightly was it 
named. For such a company of mental dudes had ne^er before 
the classic shades of Shakespeare’s realm invaded, nor tried to 
hide their empty brains ’neath masks of borrowed thoughts 
and stolen genius. 

But the dread outcome of the club, behold! Diogenes, who 
heretofore had seemed to imitate, in one respect at least, the 
mighty Ancient whose proud name he bore — the former, you 
remember, made a hopeless search to find an honest man — his 
namesake, likewise, had made fruitless search within his mas- 
sive brain to find one poor idea which was original. 

But lo ! just note the terrible catastrophe, which threatened 
now the world and all mankind ! Diogenes declared, with 
dudish drawl, that he no longer posed as a Beau Brummell — in- 
tent on curled mustache, and tightening trowser-leg — but as 
one of the literati^ he would shine ; and, peradventure, write a 
book, or poem immortal. 

In this same Gotham City, at that time, there lived, not on 
a famous square, but quite unknown, a true descendant of that 
ancient line of lords. But now an exile from his rightful 
realm, he viewed from far, the kingdom where was his right to 
reign by every claim of royal lineage. In his dark eyes and 
noble presence he bore the stamp indelible of those great 
kingly souls — Nature’s true noblemen — who rightly wear the 
proud imperial badge of God-given genius. 

Ah, noble princes in disguise! — most royal souls! Puny, 
indeed, beside thy regal rank, are earthly titles and tottering 
tlirones ! When these lie buried in historic dust, thy names 
slijill still shine sparkling as the stars ! Where are the kingly 
titles that rank now beside the names of Shakespeare, and of 
Socrates? Or shine with the bright lustre and renown of 
Homer, Dante, Milton, and the rest of those who by tlieir 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


36 

great imperial souls, compose the Aristocracy of Brains, and 
reign the rightful monarchs in the Realms of Thought ? 

This exiled prince was named Perseus Allan. And thougli 
he now toiled wearily, both day and night, for scanty suste- 
nance ; his fettered spirit doomed to ignoble tasks, like one of 
old, would like that one, break down all barriers which 0[)- 
posed ; who, aided by the gods, from whom he claimed descent, 
received his rightful rank and won the prize of valor ; so 
should this modern Perseus attain the prize of fame and power 
which genius gives. 

But, meanwhile, he must war with weak-brained snobs, who 
sought to cheat him of his fair inheritance. II is days he spent 
in toiling for his bread. His nights were snatched from sleep 
to work for fame. He knew^ the steep, rough cliffs that he 
must climb before he reached the pinnacle of power. But 
nothing daunted, he toiled on unbowed, with liis clear eagle 
eye fixed always on the sun of glory which illumined the path 
before him. 

From time to time, some rumor did betray the existence of 
this noble exile. And as he steadily climbed the Hill of Life, 
those whom he left behind began to note his onward progress, 
and to w^onder in w^eak-brained surprise w hy such an one as he 
had thus outstripped them. 

To Perseus Allan came now^ Diogenes Dude, filled with the 
one idea wdiich he had haply found w andering alone in his 
most empty head. Into that humble home of struggling 
genius, came Diogenes, in proud dudastic scorn, and thus an- 
nounced his purpose for such condescension : 

“You see, it is good form now to be learned, and quite the 
fashionable rage to be a poet. I have not read so very much, 
you know', Hw'as so exhausting to my sensitive brain. And so 
I thought, you know', that some such fellow' as you, might be 
persuaded for a sum of gold to wnite a book, and publish in 
my name ; — some of those pretty sayings, ’bout w'hich the 
ladies rave. I hardly think them worth the w hile, you see ; 
but since ’tis fashionable, and quite good form to seem to 
think, and even try to write, Pd like to pose just now' as an 
art poet. Such sentiments I might express, perhaps, without 
too great a strain upon my brains. Love poetry, would hardly 
do, you know, emotions are so w'earing ; — feelings are 
scarcely yet considered the best form. I did intend to* try and 
w'rite the book myself, but I caw'n’t get the hang of it, you see. 
My Greek is raw'ther rusty, since I left old Harvard ; w here, to 


I 

A MORAL INHERITANCE. 37 

tell the truth, I most excelled in style. Study was so weary- 
ing, don’t you know ! I really was unequal to the strain ! And 
study in tliose days, amongst the rich, was quite had foi'm, I 
do assure you. AVhat say you to this pleasing plan of mine? 
Gold must be worth more to a fellow like you, than a few 
thoughts, which hardly seem worth the while, though just now 
fashion gives to them a slight importance. You write the 
poems; I’ll pay you well to let the world think I’m not such 
bad form as to be behind the latest craze ; — though really, T 
do hope our set won’t carry this thing very far. For it is so 
much jess laborious, and surely more refining, don’t you know, 
to pose as that most cultured man. Beau Brummell — the very 
quintessence of an exquisite — than to come down to such a 
plebeian thing as thinking of One’s brains, and hunting up 
ideas.” 

Perseus, who politely had given young Dude a chair, then 
proudly rose in hauglity scorn, and answered : 

“ You think that you can buy my brains with paltry gold ? 
Is my celestial birthright to be bartered for such a miserable 
mess of pottage ? Because my body starves, think you, I’ll 
sell my mind to do the bidding of such an one as you ? Sell 
my proud genius, by the right of which I am akin to those 
immortal minds — ^sovereigns supreme — in a domain so broad 
and dominant, that compared with it, your world of fashion 
sinks forever into utter oblivion ? Such fellows as I am — so 
have you called me — are so far above your puny souls, and 
gold, that we can s[)urn them both together in our scorn, as we 
would brush away a fly or gnat; conscious only, for an instant, 
of a petty sting. Flies and gnats may perish by the thousands, 
quite unmissed ; but wlien the wings of Pegasus are broken, 
and a great Poet leaves this mortal life, the Ages stop to mark 
his resting-place, and Fame and History keep his memory 
fresh ! ” 

“ Well, really ! ” said Diogenes, “ I did not think my plan 
so bad. I don’t see why it should thus make a fellow rave. 
You’ve sold your thoughts for gold already in your books. 
Wliy, then, this awful indignation, when I ask to buy a place 
upon their title-page ? ” 

‘‘ I’ve sold my books for gold, ’tis true, but not my thoughts ! ” 
replied proud Perseus. “ I do not sell my name, and fame, 
and honor ; nor will I desecrate my high inheritance of genius, 
by bartering it for paltry gold! ” 

Well, really, then,” Diogenes said, ‘‘ if this plan thus 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


38 

offends you, though how a man can prize mere thoughts so 
highly, is strange indeed ! They seem to me such empty, use- 
less things ! I really do regret they’re now considered good 
form. They are so wearying, you know, I cawn- 1 conceive tlie 
reason why they have thus become the rage and style. I think 
the fit of clothes, and parting of tlie hair, is so much more im- 
portant than a few ideas. But as I cawn’t allow myself to be 
behind the fashion ; say now, be a good fellow then ! Consent 
to be our lio7i — if you won’t sell your name ! I really must do § 
something literary ! So I’ll become your and introduce 
you to our Dramatic Club — they dote on your friend Shake- 
speare ! We’re studying Macbeth now — I’m to play Banquo’s 
ghost — quite apropos ! — for I’ve not the ghost of an idea what 
the whole thing’s about. But my fair sister, Andromeda, 
raves round the house like one stark mad ; — she’s doing the 
‘ Walking scene,’ she says; — likely you know what ’tis she 
means ; — she stares, and wrings her hands, and cries, 

‘ Here’s the smell of the blood still ; all the perfumes of 
Arabia, will not sweeten this little hand ! ’ Indeed, An 
dromeda is quite a genius ! She exhausts me — my sensitive 
nerves cawn’t stand the strain of indulging in emotions ; 
and then, too, I rawther think them too plebeian for my 
rank. Now, come ! that’s a good fellow ! Let me be your 
patron. I think I can play that role well without exhaustion. 
You seem to have what they call ‘genius,’ don’t you know — it 
seems quite vague to me — but since genius is the rage. I’ll be 
your patron, and you shall be my Poet of Genius. Say, noAv ! 

If gold offends you, your pride cawn’t take offense, that I should 
introduce you to our set, who dote now on your books, and 
rave about your poems ! ” 

Perseus, in whose face amusement and proud scorn struggled 
for mastery, then calmly answered : 

Since one must sometimes stoop to conquer ; and since it is 
my mission to uplift mankind ; if I can help one soul among 
you to a loftier thought, by my poor presence, I will come. 
For know you, my pride is centred in those high ideals of 
thought and feeling, of which past princely poets have sung. 
Nobility of soul, not earthly rank, I seek ! And only in my 
kinship, revealed by kindred aims to those who suffered, 
yearned, and conquered in tlie past, do I now glory ; and gladly 
offer life and mind, a willing sacrifice, upon the altar of 
man’s upraising, and the vindication of the rights of God-given 
genius to hold the place intended by its Giver ! ” 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


39 


And so your poet is coming to our club I ’’ cried fair Andro- 
meda. “How maddeningly sublime! We have so longed to 
catch a glimpse of that unknown, whose poems are just too 
utterly divine, you know ! Indeed, Diogenes, I never gave 
you credit for such fine cultured tastes, and aspiring mind. 
You’ve always called books ‘ such a bore/ and laughed at me, 
when I declared I doted on poetry, and Shakespeare's plays, 
and all that sort of thing.” 

“ Aw really, you weary me, Andromeda I You might have 
known that I always do tliose things which are g^)od form and 
style. And since ’tis fashionable to become a patron of art, 
and literature, and all that sort of thing, I’ll be the swell of 
patrons, since he’s the swell of poets. By Jove I he’s proud 
enough for Lucifer himself! I had no end of trouble to per- 
suade him to show his lordly face to our blue-blood aristocrats, 
whom he pronounced quite puny souls, beside his sovereign 
lords of genius.” 

“ And I half think he’s right ! ” rejoined Andromeda. “ You 
doubtless tried to buy his presence with your gold ! No won- 
der he resented such indignity to his proud claims for fame, and 
place, and honor ! ” 

“ Aw really, I didn’t suppose you craved such plebeian birth! 
For my part, I prefer blue-blood to useless brains. I scarcely 
thought a daugliter of the house of Dudes, would thus forget 
her aristocratic line of fashionable and res[)ected ancestors ! ” 

To the Du<line Dramatic Club went Perseus Allans For in 
this War of Roses, he would meet his foe in open warfare ; and 
by the aid of Higher Powers, like his most ancient prototype, 
would win the victory. 

Behold, then, the Dramatic Club assembled ! Diogenes re- 
marked to his companion : “ Aw really now, I think that I 

must go abroad, to rest awhile from so much mental labor.” 

And thus, fair Miss Van Pelf, the heiress, answered : •“ I often 
wonder at Andromeda. She really seems to like this kind of 
thing, you know ! Now, as for me, I never was more bored 
with any fashionable freak before. Pug dogs, and crazy quilts, 
and even art, were really play besid*} dramatic clubs of ama- 
teurs. But one had better die, than out of fashion be ; and 
so I make a stylish martyr of myself ; e’en growing thin, be- 
neath the burden of my brains. 

Then Perseus Allan entered, and became at once the cyno- 
sure of neighboring eyes, and covert glances. Most kingly 
was his brow, stamped with imperial genius. His dark eyes 


40 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


blazed like Polar star — guiding, attracting, till each soul 
felt an impulse irresistable to do him reverence. And when 
voice joined with thought, and words of melting pathos flowed 
forth from his lips, like some sweet strain of heavenly melody, 
that fell upon the ear like echo of a sigh ; or swelling into 
grander anthems of great thought, rolled forth in i-ich deep 
chords of matchless harmony, whicii overwhelmed the listen- 
ing soul like ocean’s piean ; then did this exiled prince re- 
veal his royal race, and prove his right to wear the kingly 
badge of genius. 

Ah, petty-souled, and weak-brained, proud usurpers ! When 
riglitful claimant for the throne of sovereign power, upheld by 
peers of thought and potentates of mind, shall battle for his 
kingdom ; in vain are your petty boasts, and vaunted antique 
relics of past dudastic lines ! Usurpers, all I of the proud and 
imperial realm which rightfully belongs to those who claim de- 
scent from that most ancient royal line of kingly souls ; — Sov- 
ereigns of Mind! crowned with the dazzling diadems of price- 
less gems of thought; — diamonds, of flashing wit; rubies, of 
glowing words of love, drops of rich heart-blood ; emeralds, 
caught from the gleam of ocean’s foam ; pearls, that faith left 
from songs of sorrow in crushed hearts ; sapphires of Truth, 
blue as the sky, studded with stars of hope ; and all these 
gems, held in a setting rich and rare of the pure gold of high 
ideals, and lofty aims, purged from all dross of petty pride, or 
selfishness ! 

Diogenes, to Miss Van Pelf, remarked : ‘‘ Aw really, now, 

my swell poet is quite .sublime 1 Though I must say, I cawn’t 
indeed imagine how a fellow can get so much stirred up about 
such vague and foolish fancies as thoughts, and feelings, and 
all that sort of thing ! I’m quite exhausted ! I fear such 
mental toil, if long continued, will cause congestion of my sen- 
sitive brain I ” 

Just then, Andromeda, in passing, stopped to say: “ Here 
is a poet indeed ! a princely poet 1 Diogenes, did you note the 
genius in his eye ? How royal such a mind ! How peerless 
such a spirit ! ” 

Then Miss Van Pelf exclaimed, in wondering amaze : 

Andromeda Dude, do you ignore the fact, that he has neither 
gold nor antique lineage ? ” 

“I care not who he is, nor whence he came ! ” replied An- 
dromeda. ‘‘ He wears the royal badge of genius, and rightfully 
claims descent from kingly names, more ancient in their glori- 
ous shining lustre than all our petty boasts of aristocracy ! ” 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


41 


Thus had the aid of Perseus’ powerful spirit, brought liberty 
to the soul of fair Andromeda ; bound to the rock of fashion- 
able follies, a victim for the huge, voracious monster, called 
What-the-Woild-Will-Say ; which crushes heart and soul be- 
tween its pitiless jaws, and drinks the life-blood of the help- 
less victim ; forced by her proud relations to sacrifice her lieart, 
and love, and happiness, in worship of the fashionable god of 
Mammon. 

The further history of this Modern War, I need not note; 
save to disclose the destiny of Andromeda, the Fair, and 
Perseus, the Victor. Again the royal White Rose, found its 
lost domain, and usurping House of Dudes were proud to be 
allied by marriage of the Roses, to royal line of kings. Per- 
seus, like his most ancient prototype, wed the fair maiden, 
saved by his brave, true soul; and in the Imperial Land of 
Mind, they dwell amidst a noble Aristocracy of brains. 

What of Diogenes ? I have but this to add : He died of 
vacuum in the head — the doctors said. But with him ended not 
the race of mental dudes. For, ere he died, he wed the heiress. 
Miss Van Pelf. They had three children, whose descendants 
now are known as Numskulls, Fashionable Bores, and Social 
Snobs ; whose presence is endured, and even courted, by their 
impoverished relations — known as Toadies — who praise their 
inane, week-brained, frothy,, silly words ; and term them witty 
sayings — most weighty wisdom ! Thus can a portly pocket- 
book transform its owner, from a fool, straightway, into a gifted 
genius. 

The daughter of Andromeda and Perseus Allan, was a fair 
maid called Aseneith. True daughter of America was she; 
for through her father siie was descended not only from the 
aristocracy of mind, but from heroic souls who fought for free- 
dom in our Revolutionary War ; through whose self-sacrifice, 
we enjoy the blessing of our glorious independence. To h(u* 
had been bequeathed also the legacy of a diary, that of her 
great-grandmother, Margery Warren. This diary was written 
during the years 1775 to 1781, and recorded incidents which 
are authentic facts of Revolutionary times. This precious 
diary had been guarded with fond care and pride ; and as it 
gives a graphic picture of America’s heroic age, and contains 
quaint extracts from newspapers and letters of that time, and 
also reveals the nature of the ancestors of Aseneith Allan, and 
the stanch character of her brave great-grandmother, we give 
it here. 


42 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


CHAPTER V. 

Extracts from the diary of Margery Warren. 

‘‘ March 28th, 1775 My old sclioolmate, Charity Purdyj, 

was married this evening at the White Plains, Westchester 
County, New York, to Mr. Gabriel Purdy. The most remark- 
able feature of the affair, was, tliat of the party of forty-seven 
guests present, thirty-seven of whom were Purdys, there was 
not a single Whig among them. Well, Charity Purdy was a 
pleasant girl ; but I’m an out and out Whig, and I can’t abide 
the Tories. So Charity Purdy and Mai-gery Warren will 
cease to be friends. 

‘‘Yesterday some gentlemen were dining with father and 
mother. One of the gentlemen frequently used the word 
‘ Tory ’ in conversation. I thought I would like to know his 
definition of the word, and so I said : ‘ Pray, Mr. Watson, 
what is a Tory ? ’ He replied : ‘ A Tory is a thing whose head 
is in England, and its body in America, and its neck ought to 
be stretched ! ’ 

“ I hear that the inhabitants of Maryland are all in motion ; 
forming county meetings, choosing committees of observation to 
carry into effectual execution the measures recommended by 
the grand Continental Congress, and forming companies to 
learn the military, art.” 

“ March 30, 1775. — Mother was visiting in Philadelphia the 
first of this month, where she saw the following petition, which 
had been printed in the Pennsylvania Journal : 

“ ‘ The Petition of divers Old Women of the city of Philadelphia ; 
humbly sheweth : — That your petitioner^, as well spinsters as mar- 
ried, having; been long; accustomed to the drinking of tea, fear it 
will be utterly impossible for them to exhibit so much patriotism as 
wholly to disuse it. Your petitioners beg leave to observe, that, hav- 
ing already done all possible injury to their nerves and health with 
this delectable herb, they shall think it extremely hard not to enjoy 
it for the remainder of their lives. Your petitioners would further 
represent, that coffee and chocolate, or any other substitute hitherto 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


43 


proposed, they humbly apprehend from their heaviness, must destroy 
that brilliancy of fancy, and fluency of expression, usually found at 
tea tables, when they are handling the conduct or character of their 
absent acquaintances. Your petitioners are also informed, that there 
are several old women of the other sex, laboring under the like diffi- 
culties, who ai)prehend the above restriction will be wholly insup- 
portable ; and that it is a sacrifice infinitely too great to be made to 
save the lives, liberties, and privileges of any country whatever. 
Your petitioners, therefore, humbly pray that the premises may be 
taken into serious consideration, and that they may be excepted from 
the resolution adopted by the late Congress, wherein your petitioners 
conceive they were not represented ; more especially, as your peti- 
tioners only pray for an indulgence to those spinsters, whom age or 
ugliness have rendered desperate in the expectation of husbands ; 
those of the married, where infirmities and ill behavior have made 
their husbands long since tired of them, and those old xcomen of the 
male gender who will most naturally be found in such company.’ ” 

April, 1775. — Father has just received the following letter 
from my uncle who is visiting in London : 

“ ‘ Despatches have been sent from here by a sloop-of-war to General 
Gage, containing among other things, a royal proclamation, declaring 
the inhabitants of Massachusetts Bay, and some others in the differ- 
ent colonies, actual rebels, with a blank commission to try and exe- 
cute surh of them as he can get hold of. With this was sent a list 
of names to be inserted in the commission, as he may judge ext^iedi- 
ent. Included in this blank list, are Messrs. Samuel Adams, John 
Adams. Robert Treat Paine, and John Hancock, of Massachusetts 
Bay; John Dickerson, of Philadelphia; Peytou Randolph, of Vir- 
ginia; Henry Middleton, of South Cfarolina, with several others. 
Three general officers are appointed to go with the next troops. They 
are Generals Burgoyne, Clinton, and Howe.’ 

‘‘ I have just received a letter from my brother Tom, who 
w^as slightly wounded in the recent battle of Lexington. His 
letter is dated April 19th, 1775. He says: 

“‘It was discovered last night, that the King’s troops in Boston 
were embarking for some unknown point. Immediately expresses 
started off to alarm the country and put the people on their guard. 
When they were passing about a mile beyond Lexington, they were 
stopped by a party of officers. One of the expresses tried to flee, but 
was pursued by one of the officers ; who, as he gained upon him. pre- 
sented a pistol, and cried out: “You’re a dead man if you don’t 
stop!” Blit onr brave patriot rode on faster and faster, until, just 
as he reached a house, be was thrown from his horse But with great 
presence of mind, he called out to the people in the house: “ Turn 
out ! turn out! I’ve got one of them ! ” This decidedly turned the 
tables upon the pursuing officer, who immediately retreated as fast 
as he had before pursued. The other e.xprcss, who was Paul Revere, 


44 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


after being taken prisoner by the officers, escaped by a stratagem, 
and continued his brave ride. Just before sunrise, to-day, the King’s 
troops came in sight of our brave militia, who had been hastily mus- 
tered to defend their rights and country. At first, the troops laughed 
at our men, and with oaths cursed the Yankees, and said : “ They 

cannot bear the smell of gunpowder !” But the boastful Tories soon 
swore another way ; for, after the troofi's of Britain’s King had first 
fired upon his loyal American subjects, and destroyed ten lives be- 
fore a gun was fired upon them ; our brave men then returned the 
fire in good earnest and the Tories laughed no longer, but fled back 
to Lexington, pursued by the despised Yankees with such vigor that 
they were obliged to make a second retreat to Charlestown Neck, 
and afterwards fled to Bunker’s Hill. In this battle of Lexington, 
the regulars have lost sixty-five killed, one hundred and eighty 
wounded, and twenty-six prisoners. Of our provincials, fifty have 
been killed, thirty-four wounded, and four are missing. I hear that 
the British soldiers and officers have somewhat changed their opinion 
about. the bravery of our Yankee boys. One soldier who had been in 
the battle, being congratulated by a fellow-soldier upon his safe re- 
turn to Boston, declared that “ the militia had fought like bears,” and 
that he “ would as soon attempt to storm hell as fight against them 
a second time.” That won’t be the last they’ll hear from us hears, 
Margery ! When the re-inforcements w’ere sent out under Earl 
Percy, to help the troops fighting at Lexington, their fifes and drums 
played “ Yankee Doodle ; ” but after they retreated back to Boston, 
one officer asked another how he liked that tune now. “ D — the 
Yankees!” exclaimed the Tory. “They made us dance till we were 
tired ! ” Yes, Margery, those upstart Tories will dance a good deal 
higher to the tune of Yankee Doodle, before we are thiough with 
them ! ’ 

“ Bravo, Tom ! ” 

“ April 29th — I was told to-day by a gentleman wdio has 
travelled lately through Connecticut, that he met an old geh- 
tlew^oman, who informed him that she bad fitted out and sent 
five sons and eleven grandsons to Boston, when she heard of 
the engagement between the provincials and regulars. 

Did you not weep at parting with them?' asked the gen- 
tleman. 

“ ‘ No,’ she replied ; ‘ I never parted w ith them w ith more 
pleasure ! ’ 

“ ‘ But suppose they had all been killed ? ’ said the gentle- 
man. 

“ ‘ I had rather that should have been the case, than that 
one of them had come back a cow^ard ! ' answ^ered the brave old 
lady. 

“ While we have such Spartan mothers in America, I think 


A MORAL nXHERIlANCE. * 45 

the Tories will have a tough time trying to conquer our intrepid 
Yankees 

“ I have just heard the origin of the work Yankee. When 
the New England colonies were first settled, the inhabitants 
were obliged to fight their way against many nations of* In- 
dians. Tliey found but little difficulty in subduing them all, 
except one tribe who were known by the name of the Yan- 
koos, which signifies invincible. After much waste of blood 
and treasure, the Yankoos were at last subdued by the New 
England men. The remains of this nation, (agreeably to the 
Indian custom), transferred their name to their conquerors. 
For a while they were called Yankoos, but from corruption, 
common to names in all languages, they got through time the 
name of Yankees — a name which we hope will soon be equal 
to that of a Roman, or an ancient Phiglishman. 

“ The effect of the battle of Lexington is show n by the 
union of the colonies, and has brought in New York to act as 
vigorously as the rest. An army has been raised in an instant, 
and the militia are lodged in the houses of the towms around 
Boston, till their tents are finished, which will be soon. All 
that is attended to, besides plowing and planting, is to make 
ready for fighting. 

“ We hear from Halifax, that the people there have at last 
shown they have spirit. Some of the fugitives from Boston 
went to Halifax, but the people say no Tories shall be allowed 
to breathe in their air. Halifax was the only place on the 
continent where the Tories even dared to hope they might stay. 
Good for Halifax ! 

Word comes from Tom, that on June 26th, General 
Washington, with his suite ; attended by the several New York 
militia companies, a troop of gentlemen of the Philadelphia 
Light-horse, and a number of the inhabitants of New York ; 
set out for the provincial camp at Cambridge, near Boston. 
Tom writes that his wound is better, and he is proud to say he 
is on the way with the militia attending Washington. 

‘‘ When brave old General Putnam, (who w'as w’ounded fifteen 
times in the last w'ar against the French ; was taken prisoner 
by the Indians, scalped and tied to a tree ; and w^ould have 
been killed, if he had not been rescued bj^a French officer), 
heard of the battle of Lexington, he was following his plow\ 
As soon as the new'S reached him, he took one of his horses 
out of the plow, and bade his servant take the other and follow 
him with his arms to Boston. When General Burgoyne's 


46 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


master’s orders found him, he was probably in a gaming house 
or a brothel. Such was the difference between him and our 
American Cincinnatus. 

‘‘I read in the New York Gazette^ of July 3rd, 1775, the fol- 
lowing : 

“ ‘ A writer in London says : — Though the American soldiery per- 
haps may not be so regularly disciplined as the King^s troops, yet it 
must be considered that there is a very material difference between 
a man who fights for his natural liberty, and the man who only fights 
because he is paid for it. The former defends himself in a just 
cause ; the latter is a mere dupe of power. The former is animated 
by the zeal of his attachments to the public weal ; the latter has no 
attachments at all, except to his pay for slaughter and bloodshed.^ 

It is said that so many Pennsylvanians made applications 
to join a company of riflemen, being enrolled in their neigh- 
borhood, that the gentleman appointed to command them, hav- 
ing instructions only to engage a certain number, hit upon a 
plan of testing the men. So he drew the figure of a common - 
sized nose upon a board with chalk, and declared that those 
who came nearest the mark should be enlisted. Sixty odd hit 
the object ‘ General Gage, take care of your nose 

July, 1775. — Tom writes from the camp in Cambridge: 

“ ‘ The regulars are situated on Bunker’s and Breed’s Hills, and 
within reach and under cover of the guns from the batteries in the 
town of Boston, and the ships in the harbor ; and of a number of 
floating batteries which they have built. The Americans are situ- 
ated on Charles river, about two hundred rods below Harvard Col- 
lege, where they have a redoubt, which begins the line; then about 
sixty rods from that another redoubt, and lines continuing near one 
hundred rods. At Charlestown road, at the foot of Prospect Hill, is 
another redoubt and strong fortification. On Prospect Hill, is Put- 
nam’s post. Between that and Winter Hill is a redoubt. On Win- 
ter Hill is a strong citadel, with lines over Charlestown road to the 
Mystic river. The American’s main fortress is on Prospect Hill ; 
the regulars on Bunker's Hill— within cannon shot of each other. A 
hill between these two points, called Cobble Hill, will soon create a 
squabble as to which shall have it. It will not be many days before 
a contest begins, which will probably bring on a general engagement. 
In four or five days more the Americans will be well prepared and 
won’t care how soon the regulars come ; the sooner the better. ’ ” 

‘‘August 7th, 1775. — Captain Cresap’s company of rifle- 
men, have just passed through onr town on their way to the 
American camp. I think the Tories will learn something 


A MORAL inheritancje:. 


47 


more of Yankee sharp-sliooting. This company of brave young 
fellows have been in the late expedition against the Indians, 
and bear in their bodies the scars and wounds, marks of their 
prowess, which w^ould do honor to the heroes of Homer’s Iliad. 
As a sample of their fine shooting, two brothers in the com 
pany took a piece of board, five inches broad and seven inches 
long, with a bit of paper about the size of a dollar nailed in 
the centre ; and while one of them supported this board per- 
pendicularly between his knees, the other, at the distance of 
upwards of sixty yards, and without any kind of rest, shot 
eight bullets through it, without any apparent danger to his 
brother. Another of the company held a barrel stave perpen- 
dicularly in his hands with one edge close to his side, while 
one of his comrades at the same distance, shot several bullets 
through it. When the spectators expressed amazement, they 
were informed that fifty in the company could do the same, 
and that there was not one who could not plug nineteen bul- 
lets out of twenty, within an inch of the head of a tenpenny 
nail.” 

August 9th. The following appeal has been posted in the 
city of Philadelphia ; 

“ ‘ To the spinners in this city, the suburbs, and country ; — your 
services are now wanted to promote the American manufactory, at 
the corner of Market and Ninth streets, where cotton, wool, flax, etc., 
are delivered out. One distinguishing characteristic of an excellent 
woman, as given by the wisest of men, is, “ that she seeketh wool 
and flax, and worketh willingly with her hands to the spindle, and 
her hands holdeth the distaff.” In this time of public distress, you 
have now, each of you, an opportunity not only to help to sustain 
your families, but likewise to cast your mite into the treasury of 
the public good. The most feeble effort to help to save the State 
from ruin, when it is all you can do, is as the widow’s mite, entitled 
to the same reward as they who, of their abundant abilities, have 
cast in much.’ 

‘‘ So mother and I will now become spinners for the country. 

I quote the following from the Pennsylvania Journal^ of 
August 16th, from a writer in Plymouth, England. 

“ ‘ The whole country here is in great consternation about the fire 
kindled in America, and it is thought that the assistance of our pi- 
ous and reverend fathers in the Church, will be much wanted there, 
to quench the flames of zeal for liberty, and to spirit up the soldiery ; 
as Father O’Neil did in Ireland, declaring that “ all who died in 
their country’s cause, should sup with him in Paradise that night.” 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


48 

But the King getting the better of the action, Father O’Neil dapped 
spurs to his horse, and made olf; which one of his party observing, 
cried out: “ Oh, Father ! will you not stay and sup with us to- 
night?” To which the pious father answered that it was a fast day 
with him. We might expect the same answer from our pious fath- 
ers ; they would sooner fast, if called upon, than go over to Amer- 
ica.’ 

“ I quote the following from the Constitutional Gazette^ dl 
September 9th : 

“‘The enemies to liberty and America, headed by Tom Gage, 
lately gave a notable spdfcimen of their hatred to the very name of 
liberty. A party of them a few days since, repaired to a tree at the 
south'end of Boston, known by the name of Liberty Tree, and armed 
with axes, made a furious attack upon it. After a long spell of 
laughing, and grinning, sweating, swearing, and foaming with malice 
diabolical, they cut down a tree, because it bore the name of liberty. 
Be it known to this infamous band of traitors, that the GRAND 
AMERICAN TREE OF LIBERTY, planted in the centre of the 
united colonies of North America, now flourishes with unrivaled and 
increasing beauty ; and bids fair in a short time to afford under its 
widespreading branches, a safe and happy retreat for all the sons of 
liberty, however numerous and dispersed.’ 

“ Dr. Franklin, in a letter to a friend in England, says : 

“ ‘ America is determined and unanimous, a very few Tories ex- 
cepted, who will probably soon export themselves, Britain, at the 
expense of three millions, has killed one hundred and fifty Yankees 
this campaign, which is twenty thousand pounds a head j and on 
Bunker’s Hill she gained a mile of ground, half of which she has 
since lost by not having post on Ploughed Hill ; during the same 
time sixty thousand children have been born in America. From 
these data, an excellent mathematical head will easily calculate the 
time and expense requisite to kill us all, and conquer our whole ter- 
ritory.’ 

“ Quite a droll affair happened yesterday in our neighbor- 
hood. A number of us girls had collected for a quilting frolic, 
and young Jack Ketch favored us with his company. He is an 
half and half Tory, and a good deal of a coward ; so when he 
began aspersions upon Congress, we girls couldn’t stand it, 
we were so exasperated at his impudence ; and thereupon we 
laid hold of this bumptious fool, and having stripped him to the 
waist, w^e covered him with molasses, instead of tar, and hav- 
ing no feather’s handy, w^e coated him well with the downy 
tops of flags which grow in the meadotvs. Then w’e let his 
lordship go. As the British have been indulging lately in giv- 
ing coats of tar and feathers to some of our brave patriots, 
whom they had taken prisoners, we thought we would retaliate 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


49 


on this boastful young Tory. I think the lesson will not be 
without profit. It is said he intends to prosecute us. Well, if 
it is not contrary to law for the Tories to tar and feather the 
Yankees, I guess our trial won’t be very serious for having ap- 
plied molasses and flag-tops. 

October 3rd, 1773. — The New York Sons of Liberty 
voted thanks recently to Mr. Jacob Vredenburgh, harher^ for 
his patriotic conduct in refusing to complete an operation, vul- 
garly called shaving, which he had begun on the face of Cap- 
tain John Croser, commander of one of his majesty’s trans- 
ports ; but which operation Mr, Jacob Vredenburgh firmly re- 
fused to finish, when he was informed of th^gen tie man’s 
identity. So Captain John Croser, if he desires to liave both 
sides of his face completed, will be obliged to see some Tory 
barber. It is hoped that all gentlemen of the razor will follow 
this patriotic example.” 

‘‘ December 6th, 1775 Lord Dunmor^ his majesty’s 

lieutenant, and Governor-General of the Colony of Virginia, 
has this day issued a proclamation to the people. The procla- 
mation is full of false statements, and therein, noble patriots 
who desire to defend their liberties and their country from un- 
just demands, are styled rebels, regarding which the PennsyU 
vania Journal aptly retorts as follows : 

Those who are afraid of being styled r^els, we would beg to 
consider, that although Lord Dunmore, in this proclamation, insid- 
iously mentions his having till now entertained hopes of an accom- 
modation ; yet the whole tenor of his conduct, for many months 
past, has had the most direct and strongest tendency to widen the 
unhappy breach, and render a reconciliation more difficult. For 
what other purpose did he write his false and inflammatory letters 
to the ministers of state ? Why did he, under cover of the night, 
take from us our powder, and render useless the arms of our public 
magazine ? Why did he secretly and treacherously lay snares for 
the lives of our unwary brethren ; snares that had likely to have 
proved but too effectual ? Why did he, under idle pretenses, with- 
draw himself from the seat of government ; where alone he could, 
had he been willing, have done essential service to, dur country? 
Why, by his authority, have continual depredations been since made 
upon such of our countrymen as are situated within reach of ships- 
of-war and tenders? Why have our towns been attacked, and houses 
destroyed? Why have the persons of many of our most respectable 
brethren been seized upon, torn from all their connections, and con- 
fined on board of ships? Was all this to bring about a reconcili- 
ation? Judge for yourselves, whether the injuring of our persons 

4 


50 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


and properties be the readiest way to gain our affections ! After in- 
sulting our persons, he now presumes to insult our understandings 
also. Consider the many attempts that have been made to enslave 
us. Nature gave us equal privileges with the people of Great 
Britain; we are equally with them, entitled to the disposal of our 
own property, and we have never resigned to them those rights 
which we derived from nature. But they have endeavored, unjustly, 
to rob us of them. They have made acts of parliament, in which 
we in no manner concurred, which dispose of our property; acts 
which abridge us of liberties we once enjoyed, and which impose 
burdens and restraints upon us too heavy to be borne. 

“ ‘ Had we immediately taken up arms to assert our rights, and to 
prevent the exercise of unlawful power, though our cause would 
have been just, yet our conduct would have been precipitate, and, so 
far, bl amiable. We might then with some shadow of justice, have 
been charged^ with re6e???‘on, or a disposition to rebel. But this was 
not the way we behaved. We petitioned once and again, in the most 
dutiful manner ; we hoped the righteousness of our cause would ap- 
pear, that our complaints would be heard and attended to ; we wish- 
ed to avoid the horrors of a civil war, and so long proceeded in this 
fruitless track, that our not adopting a more vigorous opposition 
seemed rather to proceed from a spirit of meanness and fear than of 
peace and loyalt^^ and all that we gained was, to be more grievously 
oppressed. At iSgth we resolved to withhold our commerce from 
Great Britain, and, by thus affecting her interest, oblige her to re- 
dress our grievances. But in this also we have been disappointed. 
Our associations have been deemed unlawful combinations, and op- 
position to government. We have been entirely deprived of our 
trade to foreign countries, and even amongst ourselves ; and fleets 
and armies have been sent to reduce us to a compliance with the un- 
just and arbitrary demands of the British minister and corrupt par- 
liament. Eeduced to such circumstances, to what could we have 
recourse but to arms ? Every other expedient having been tried and 
found ineffectual, this alone was left, and this we have at last un- 
willingly adopted. If it be rebellion to take up arms in such a cause 
as this, rebellion, then, is not only justifiable, but an honorable 
thing. 

“ ‘ But let us not be deceived with empty sounds. They who call 
ns rebels cannot make ns so. Eebellion is open, and avows opposi- 
tion to lawful authority ; but it is unsurped and arbitrary power, 
which we have determined to oppose. Societies are formed and 
magistrates appointed, that men may the better enjoy the blessings 
of life. Some of the rights which they have derived from nature 
they part with, that they may the more peaceably and safely possess 
the rest. To preserve the rights they have reserved, is the duty of 
every member of society ; and tofleprive a people of these, is treason, 
is rehellion against the State. If this doctrine, then, be right — which 
no one, we believe, will venture to deny — we are dutiful members of 
society ; and the persons who endeavor to rob us of our rights, they 
are the rebels; — rebels to their country and to the rights of human nature. 

“ ‘ We are acting the part of loyal subjects, of faithful members of 
the community, when we stand forth in opposition to the arbitrary 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


and oppressive acts of any man, or set of men. Be well assured, 
that the time will come when these invaders of the rights of human 
kind will suffer the punishment due to their crimes; and :^heu the 
insulted and oppressed Americans will, if they preserve their virtue, 
triumph over all their enemies.^ 

* ‘‘ It is reported that the soldiers in Boston, by order of their 
General Howe, have taken down the pulpit and all the pews 
in the Old South Meeting-house, and are using it for a riding- 
school. Even infidels have held churches sacred ! 

“ The Constitutional Gazette, published to-day, the following : 

“ ‘ TH^QUAKREL WITH AMERICA. 

“ ‘ Rudely forced to drink tea, Massachusetts in anger 
Spills the tea on John Bull — John falls on to bang her, 
Massachusetts enrag’d, calls her neighbors to aid. 

And gives Master John a severe bastinade ! 

Now, good men of the law, pray who is in fault, 

The one who begins, or resists the assault ? ’ ” 

July 4th, 1776 — This day, ‘ after much deliberation, the 
Congress has adopted Independency.’ While the question has 
been under discussion, there have been widespread comments. 
Among them is the following from the Middlesex Journal: 

'‘'THE PAUSING AMERICAN LOYALIST. 

“ ' To sign, or not to sign ? That is the question. 

Whether ’twere better for an honest man 
To sign, and so be safe ; or to resolve, 

Betide what will, against associations, 

And, by retreating, shun them. To fly — I reck 
Not where : And, by that flight, t’ escape 
Feathers and tar, and thousand other ills 
That loyalty is heir to. ’Tis a consummation 
Devoutly to be wished. To fly — to want — 

To want? Perchance to starve. Ay, there’s the rub! 

For in that chance of want, what ills may come 
To patriot rage, when I have left my all — 

Must give me pause ; — There’s the respect 
That makes us trim, and bow to men we hate. 

For, who would bear the indignities o’ th’ times, 

Congress decrees, and wild convention plans, 

The laws controll’d, and inj’ries unredressed. 

The insolence of knaves, and thousand wrongs 
Which patient Ue^e men frorn vile rebels take. 

When he, sans doubt, niitiht certain safety find, 

Only by flying ? Who would bend to fools, 


5 ^ 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


And truckle thus to mad, mob chosen upstarts, 

But that the dread of something after flight 
(In that blest country, where, yet, no moneyless 
Pooy wight can live) puzzles the will. 

And makes ten thousands rather sign — and eat ; 

Than fly — to starve on loyalty. — 

Thus, dread of want makes rebels of us all : 

And thus the native hue of loyalty 
Is sicklied o’er with a pale cast of trimming; 

And enterprises of great pith and virtue, 

«* But unsupported, turn their streams away, ' 

And never come to action.’ 

‘‘ There was a recent alarm at Elizabetl^wn, and an imme- 
diate attack of the regulars was expect, and every man 
capable of bearing arms was summoned to defend it. Three 
or four young men, brotliers, were observed going out from one 
house ; when an elderly lady, mother or grandmother to the 
young men, assisted tliem to arm, without betraying any fear, 
and with resolute calmness said to them : ‘ My children, I 

have a few words to say to yon. You are going out in a just 
cause to fight for the rights and liberties of your country. You 
have my blessing and prayers, that God will protect and assist 
you. But if you fall. His will be done ! Let me beg of you, 
my children, that if you fall, it may be like men ; and that 
your wounds may not be in your back ! ’ Such are our Ameri- 
can mothers ! No Avonder our boys are brave and loyal! 

“ I found the following lines in the Pennsylvania Evening 
Post : 


“ ‘ A FABLE. 

“ ‘Some mice deep intrench’d in a rich Cheshire cheese, 
Grimalkin long wished to devour. 

Secure from their numbers, they lived at their ease, 
And bravely defi^ed his power. 

In vain all the day he sat watching their holes, 

All his tricks and his force were in v«in ; 

E ich effort convinced him the vermin had souls. 
Determined their cheese to maintain. 


Grimalkin, deep versed in political schools, 
Affected the siege to give o’er. 

Supposing the mice were such ignorant fools. 
They would venture abroad as before. 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


S3 


But, as he retreated, a spirited mouse, 

Whom time had bedappled -with gray, 

Cried, * All your finesse we don’t value a sous. 
No more to your cunning a prey. 


‘ This cheese hy possession we claim as our own. 
Fair Freedom the claim doth approve ; 

Our wants are but few, and her blessing alone. 
Sufficient those wants to remove. 


‘ No Cat will we own ; with ambition run mad. 
For our king — so move off in a trice ; 

If we find from experience a }z\ng must be had, 
That king shall be made by the mice.’ ’ ” 


‘‘July 10, 1776. — This afternoon the Declaration of Inde- 
pendence was read at the head of each brigade of the Conti- 
nental Army, posted at and in the vicinity of New York. It 
was received everywhere with loud huzzas, and the utmost 
demonstrations of joy ; and to-night the equestrian statue ot 
George III., which Tory pride and folly raised in the year 
1770, has, by the Sons of Freedom, been laid prostrate in the 
dust ; — the just desert of an ungrateful tyrant ! The lead 
wherewitli the monument was made is to be run into bullets, to 
aSvsimilate with the brains of our infatuated adversaries, who, 
to gain a pepper-corn, have lost an empire. 

“ The following ‘ Appeal,’ appeared in the Freeman’s Journal, 
of October 29th, 1776 : 

“ ‘ While we have such a cause, such patriots, such Spartan mothers, 
and such brave boys, we will indeed write a noble history in the 
annals of the world. How inspiring is the thought that we are per- 
mitted to be the actors in this glorious drama of Freedom ! How 
petty are the selfish aims of life when compared with the opportuni- 
ties for heroic action now vouchsafed by Providence to the loyal in- 
habitants of these United States! 

“ ‘ The important day is come, big with the fate of millions, and 
America now beckons to her sons to kindle all their native fire, push 
into action every power, and press to the seas or fields where Fame 
and Glory call. The united wisdom of America in Congress has 
determined that it is necessary to the salvation of these States, that 
an army be raised to serve during this war. The wisdom of this 
measure must appear to all ; therefore let us all promote it with our 
utmost power. He who enlists into this army of freemen, in defence 
of everything good and great, enrolls bis name in Fame’s brightest 
temple, where it will shine (if not blotted by after misconduct) with 
growing lustre down applauding ages ; while posterity rises through 


54 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


successive eras to taste the] bliss of freedom handed down by tJS, 
their forefathers ; and every infant tongue and hoary head will bless 
our memory ; and with rapture hail the day when we drew the 
sharpened steel against the Tyrant George, and- with transports all 
their own, pass down the stream of time till time shall be no more ! 
How angelic the design to communicate felicity to all those millions 
who may rise after us, and inhabit these United States ! “ The bless- 
ings of future ages, which the conscious imagination anticipates,’^ 
crowd together in the patriot’s breast, and are the solid pleasures 
which delight his mind. 

“ ‘ The history of mankind bleeds with the destruction which tyr- 
anny has made in all countries and nations ; and while we weep 
over the “tragic pages stained with the blood of patriot citizens, ” 
they speak like a voice of thunder in the ears of Americans to guard 
against the execrable monster. Despotic kings, from the time of 
Nimrod to this hour, have deluged the world in blood, and have been 
the curses of mankind ; — but in the whole catalogue of royal villains, 
has there been one of a more infernal character than George the 
Third? Do not our heroic ancestors, who fled from the tyranny of 
Britons, and subdued American wildernesses in spite of savage bar- 
barity, speak to us from their celestial abodes, to defend the dear 
inheritance of Liberty, which they left us, while Posterity mingle 
their cries, and Keason and Keligion unite their voices in the press- 
ing call ! Imploring the assistance of Him, Who gave us the rights 
of humanity, let us with a sacred ardor and unalterable firmness 
watch over and defend the rights of America, “nor pause to waste a 
coward thought on Life.” 

“ ‘ Every good mind must feel a glow of gratitude to Heaven for 
the animating prospect of seeing America the asylum of libertj^ the 
land of virtuous freedom, the seat of learning, of industry, manufac- 
tures, commerce, and husbandry; the nurse of heroes, the parent of 
science, the bosom of virtue, and the guardian of mankind! The 
whole series of divine dispensations, from the infant days of our 
fathers in America, are big with importance in her favor, and point 
to something great and good. If we look round the world, and view 
the nations with their various connections, interests, and depend- 
encies, we shall see innumerable causes at work in favor of this grow- 
ing country. ’ 

Tom writes that the words of Samuel Adams have been 
repeated to the soldiers, and have enthused the Yankee boys 
with fresh courage. ‘ I would advise,’ said Samuel Adams, 
‘ persisting in our struggle for liberty, though it w^ere revealed 
from heaven that nine hundred and ninety-nine were to perish, 
and only one of a thousand to survive and retain his liberty. 
One such freeman must possess more virtue, and enjoy more 
happiness, than a thousand slaves; and let him propagate his 
like, and transmit to them what he bath so nobly preserved.’ 

‘‘Father to-day received a letter with this amusing post- 
script : 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


55 


“ * LOST, an old black dog, of the American breed ; answers to the 
name of PUTNAM; — had on a yellow collar with the follow- 
ing inscription, Ubi Libertas Ibi Fatria 1776. Long Island;" 
is an old domestic animal, — barks very much at the name of 
North, and has a remarkable howl at that of Howe. Was seen in 
Long Island some time ago, but is supposed to have been alarmed at 
some British troops who were exercising there, and ran off toward 
Hellgate. As he was a great favorite of the Washington family, 
they are fearful some accident has happened to him.’ 

“ The New York Gazette contains the following advertise- 
ment : 

WANTED, by a gentleman fond of curiosities, who is shortly 
going to England, a parcel of Congress Notes, with which he intends 
to paper some rooms. Those who wish to make something of their 
stock in that commodity, shall, if they are clean and fit for the pur- 
pose, receive at the rate of one guinea per thousand for all they can 
bring before the expiration of the present month.’ 

“November 13th, 1776. — Tom writes: 

“ ‘ Last night we went a*Tory hunting with a party of fifty men, but 
the birds had flown before we arrived. It is rather strange, Margery, 
that the events of this w*' should so directly contradict Lord Sand- 
wich’s declaration that the Americans were cowards, and that his 
particular friends should happen to suffer so much from these same 
so-called cowardly Americans. Major Pitcairue re-echoed his lord- 
ship’s opinion, and boasted, before he embarked at Portsmouth, that 
if he drew his sword but half out of the scabbard, the whole ban- 
ditti of Massachusetts Bay, would flee before him. Behold, he was 
slain the first time he appeared in the field against these cowardly 
Americans; and Captain Howe, another of his lordship’s friends, is 
handled so roughly by American privateers, as to change his tune of 
cowardly Americans ; and now these cowards have beat two fifty-gun 
ships, four twenty-eight gun frigates, and two others of twenty-eight 
guns each, making two hundred and fifty-two guns; while the cow- 
ards possessed but nineteen guns. So in this little skirmish at Sulli- 
van’s Island, Sir Peter Parker, the friend of Lord Sandwich, is forced 
to confess, that their “attempt to take the fort was impracticable, 
and that any further efibrt would have been the destruction of many 
brave men, without the least possibility of success.” Rather a good 
record for cowardly Americans^ don’t you think, Margery ? ’ 

“ It is reported that in the country dances published in Lon- 
don, for next year, there is one called ‘ Lord Howe’s Jig ; ’ in 
which there is cross over, change hands, turn your partner, 
foot it on both sides, and other movements admirably depictive 
of the present v/ar in America. The London Tories will yet 
have to ‘ Heel and Toe,’ to other Yankee dances, before America 
gets through her Grand Military Ball, 


56 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


‘‘ The following is a Tory receipt to make a patriot : ^ Take 
two drachms of reason and six ounces of resolution; half a 
pound of eloquence, and a pound of logic ; three grains of truth 
and a pound of falsehood ; stir them up together in a quart of 
opposition, with the necessary ingredients of poverty and dis- 
tress ; strain out all the pernicious juice of principle, or hon- 
esty, and leave the dregs of treachery to settle at the bottom. 
Thus, after being boiled in the heat of ministerial vengeance, 
you will have a MODERN PATRIOT. N. B. — If the least 
use is made of that attracting word called pension, the com- 
pound will instantly dissolve.’ 

“Uncle sends the following from London : ‘Ran away from 
St. James’s, an old servant called Common-sense and Honesty, 
formerly belonging to his late majesty, George the Second, and 
by .him imported from Hanover. He served the old King 
faithfully, and was of great service in procuring him the esteem 
and affection of all his subjects ; but being constantly made a 
laughing-stock by the Lords Bute and Mansfield, since his 
majesty’s demise, he took the resolution suddenly to absent 
himself from court. His present owner, it is said, is very 
indifferent whether he ever returns or not, having, by the arts 
and misrepresentations of these noblemen, and others, taken a 
prejudice against him ; but some of the people who know the 
old king, and the regard he had for his useful servant, have 
authorized the promise of five thousand pounds reward to any 
person who shall bring him back to the palace, and prevail 
upon him to continue only one month longer in his majesty’s 
service.’ 

“ The young ladies of our neighborhood have to-day resolved, 
and entered into an association, called the Loyal Maids of 
America. We pledge ourselves not to permit the addresses of 
any gentleman, no matter what his circumstances or position in 
life may be, who has not served iji the American armies long 
enough to prove by his valor that he is deserving of our 
love. 

“ Tom writes from Valley Forge : 

“ ‘ Thouj^h we have tough times, Margery, you may be assured we 
are more determined than ever to “ fight for liberty or death It^s 
hard on the sick, poor fellows ! many of whom have to lay on the 
bare ground, for want of even a bundle of straw for a bed. A thou- 
sand of our boys are without shoes, with bleeding feet, in the midst 
of ice and snow. As to food, Margery ! Well, I sometimes think 
with half longing of the scraps father used to give to our hogs. But 
I don’t complain. I’d endure more than this for the sake of our 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


57 


glorious cause. Wasliiugton goes amougst us like a teuder father, 
and the Marquis de La Fayette, tliough accustomed to live like a 
lord, in the gay French court, takes our poor soldier-fare without a 
murmur.^ 

Brave Tom ! I am proud to be the sister of such a patriot ! 
Father starts to-day to join Tom ; for lie says, that every man, 
whether old or young, must lend a hand. Mother and I try to 
be brave. We have been spinning night and day, knitting 
soldiers’ socks, and making clothes for the poor boys at Valley 
Forge. I begged father to let me don a soldier’s suit, and go 
with him, if I am only a girl ; for I am most as good a shot as 
Tom, and I would just like to prove wdiat pluck and courage a 
Yankee girl could display. But father said : ‘ What would 

poor mother do, Margery ? ’ So I knew my duty was to spin^ 
instead fight ; and dear father patted my head, kissed 
mother, swallowed the tears which would choke his voice, in 
spite of his brave heart, and then was gone. If it were not for 
my duty to mother, I’m vain enough to think that there might 
be an American Joan (T Arc in future history; only her name 
would be Margery Warren. Meanwhile, I’ll write in my 
Diary, which shall be left as a legacy to my posterity; and I’ll 
spin my yarn, knit soldiers’ socks ; and if I can’t get a shot at 
the Tories with a gun. I’ll have the satisfaction of annihilating 
that young Tory swell, who tries to court my favor, by such a 
fusilade of red-hot Yankee words of disdain for all his boasted 
offers of wealth and traitor-love, as shall convince him that a 
patriotic American girl would be piouder to eat a dry crust in 
a cabin of liberty, than dance attendance to the most titled 
Tory at St. James’s Court. 

Thouirh the battle of Brandywine went against us in Sep- 
tember, in October, General Burgoyne, with his army of more 
than five thousand men, surrendered as prisoners at Saratoga. 
This was comforting news to the suffering army of Washing- 
ton at Valley Forge. 

June 30, 1778 Tom writes of the battle of Monmouth, 

which occurred June 28th. Lee’s troops were first driven back, 
but were rallied by Washington. Dear father was wounded in 
the engagement. Tom hopes not fatally ; but mother and I 
start to-morrow, to try if possible to reach the camp to nurse 
him. My Diary will stop for a time, 

February, 18th, 1779 I have neglected my Diary for a 

long time, but sick soldiers, and knitting socks, have seemed 


58 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


more important than even diaries for one’s posterity. Father 
has recovered from his wound sufficiently to join his company. 
Mother and I attended the grand entertainment given to cele- 
brate the anniversary of the alliance with France. General 
AVashington, and the principal officers of tlie army, together 
with Mrs. Washington, Mrs. Greene, Mrs. Knox, and others 
of note, were present. There was first a dinner, then, as night 
came on, an exhibition of fireworks ; and lastly, a dance in a large 
hall. The ball was opened by His Excellency, General Wash- 
ington. The most charming partner I had was a young officer 
in Washington’s suite. He asked me, ‘ If the roaring of the 
British Lion in his late speech did not interrupt the spirit of 
the dance ? ’ 

‘ Not at all,’ I replied ; ‘ it rather enlivens ; for 1 have 
heard that such animals always increase their bowlings when 
most frightened. And do you not think,’ I added, ‘ that he has 
real cause for apprehension from the large armaments and 
honorable purpose of the Spaniards ? ’ 

“ ‘ So,’ he rejoined, ‘ you suppose that the King of Spain acts 
in politics as the ladies do in affairs of love ; smile in a man’s 
face, while they are spreading out the net which is to entangle 
him for life ? ’ 

‘ At what age,’ I retorted, ‘ do men lose the power of pay- 
ing such compliments?’ 

“ ‘ Never, while ladies are fair ! ’ he gallantly answered. 

“ AYe have not much time for balls, when battles must be 
fought. Tom was again wounded at Stony Point. He was 
with the men of ‘ Mad Anthony,’ when they so valliantly 
charged up the hill. Father is down with camp fever, and 
mother has gone to nurse him, while I go to poor Tom.” 

“ 1780. — Tom has been very ill. I should have been for- 
lorn, indeed, through these anxious days, were it not for the 
kind attention of the young officer I met at the February ball. 
I found him nursing Tom, though he, himself, had been quite 
badly wounded. AYell! a woman's heart will flutter a little 
even though she aspires to be a Joan d'Arc I ” 

^‘January 30, 1781 — Poor brave Tom lies at last in a sol- 
dier’s grave. As soon as their wounds would allow, he, with 
my friend, Captain Dorrance, joined General Morgan in his 
expedition against Colonel Tarleton at the Cowpens. In the 
battle which followed, Tom fell in the heroic charge which 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


59 


caused a total rout of the enemy. Captain Dorrance wrote 
me of Tom’s gallant conduct. Father is ill with camp fever. 
Mother and I must now be brave indeed ! ” 

“ March, 1781 — I am in a strange place in truth ! Having 
heard that Captain Dorrance had been wounded in a skirmish 
with the Indians, I determined to at last don men’s attire, as 
no woman would be allowed to pass the lines where I must fol- 
low my love. I found him in the woods, left for dead, having 
been wounded by a poisoned arrow. Knowing enough of sur- 
gery to do the only thing possible under the circumstances, I 
saved his life by sucking his wound ; the only expedient that 
could have effected it at the crisis he was in. I then nursed 
him for six weeks in the hut of a faithful squaw, who aided me 
in my constant vigils. Having dyed my skin with lime and 
bark, my loved one never suspected my identity, as I continued 
to wear my man’s habit. At times, I was almost overcome by^ 
the captain’s oft-repeated grateful thanks, to, as he supposed, 
his unknown comrade, who thus tenderly nursed him ; and 
when his strength allowed him, lie would tell me of his love 
for ‘Margery,’ so far distant, as he thought; and he would bid 
me carry to her his dying message of love and constancy ; and 
would implore me if possible to let her know of the spot where 
his grave should be. But my love will not die. He is 
slowly gaining strength. As soon as his health will allow, I 
will have him moved to the nearest town. Not until I have 
him safe with my dear mother, and have resumed my woman’s 
garb, will I make known to him the identity of his nurse.” 

“ October 30th, 1781 — Yesterday, the news reached us that 
Cornwallis had surrendered. Victory has crowned our effoj’ts ! 
The bells in every town and hamlet throughout the country 
ring out the joyful news of this great event. Bonfires blaze 
on every hilltop. Congress repaired in solemn procession to 
the Dutch Lutheran Church, to return thanks to God for this 
providential deliverance. 

“ Father, and mother. Captain Dorrance, and Margery War- 
ren no longer, but at present Margery Warren Dorrance ; this 
happy party of four are now at Poughkeepsie, New York, 
viewing the grand illuminations and demonstrations of national 
joy. Dear Tom ! we drop y)roud tears over your patriotic 
grave! My Diary of the Revolution is ended. Perhaps it 
cannot close more appropriately than in the words of the old 


6o 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


negro. Sambo belonged to a scouting party which was just 
returning to camp, and hearing the firing, and being ignorant 
of the important reason for such jubilant demonstration. Sambo 
said to a negro belonging to another party they met in the 
way : 

‘‘ ‘ Cuffee, whas all dat firin’ we hear to-day?’ 

“ ^ O my dear soul, Sambo ! noffin’ ’tall, only General Bur- 
goyne hab a brodder born to-day ! ’ ” 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


6i 


CHAPTER VI. 

Oh, the tumbling, tossing torrents ! Oh, the seething, surg- 
ing waters ! Tossing torrents, white foam-crested ; surging 
billows, breaking into misty masses, rain-bow tinted ; rising to- 
ward the blue above, like clouds of incense wafted up from 
nature's altar, in honor of her Infinite Creator. Falling here, 
like shimmering bridal veil of misty whiteness ; tumbling 
there, with tremendous tumult in majestic cataracts; boiling, 
surging, seething in the watery depths below like some titanic 
cauldron, steaming from volcanic fires, fed by giant demons be- 
low in the awful chasms, in the mysterious caverns of the un- 
known regions where the mighty forces of nature are held in 
bondage by the will and power of their Creator. 

To the southward, wooded islands smile serenely iif the 
midst of tossing waters, which lash their grassy banks with half 
ferocious, half caressing touch. The west is all aglow with the 
glory of the setting sun, whose bright beams gild the white 
flecked waves with gleaming points of light ; and falling on 
the sheets of tumbling waters, turn their emerald crests to 
glowing amber tints; while light clouds above the river be- 
low, reflect deep purple shadows, in the midst of the emer- 
ald surface of the dark and swelling river. 

The distant banks, crowned with green forests, are seen 
dimly through the clouds of mist which rise unceasingly to- 
ward heaven. The cataracts surge and sweep, now here, like 
glistening avalanches of white snow ; there, green as emerald, 
gleaming through the misty veils of wliiteness ; so soft they 
fall, and yet so awesomely, ’twould seem half like a sum- 
mer's dream, to lie upon their glittering crests, and slide upon 
their flecks of snow, down to the awful depths below. 

Again Niagara smiles beneath the morning sun. Fleecy 
Avhite clouds fleck the clear blue arch of heaven, which spans 
the glorious landscape. We stand midway upon the airy-like 
structure of the suspension bridge, thrown like a spider’s web 
across the great chasm of the Niagara. Below flows the river 
of emerald green, flecked with white foam, fresh from the great 


62 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


cataract. From this dizzy height we have a bird’s-eye view of 
all the surrounding landscape, of towering banks, of wooded 
islands, of the great rapids of the river, and of the mighty 
falls. All is full of life and motion, full of sublimity and 
grandeur. Close by our left, sweeps down into the abyss be- 
low in one long robe of misty whiteness, the American branch 
of the Niagara Falls. Then beyond the wooded island which 
divides the mighty river, in a continuous graceful curve, sweep- 
ing from American to Canadian soil, pours in heavy masses, 
aquamarine tinted, the ponderous volumes of crystal waters ; 
which, in their wild leap, burst forth into clouds of marvelous 
whiteness, and plunging downward into the awesome chasm, 
boil and seethe, bubble and roll away with the whiteness of a 
river of milk. From this mighty contact of the waters, rises 
a volume of mist, that glistening in the sunlight, imprisons 
many a gorgeous rainbow, the Avonder of the world. 

Through untold ages, before man inhabited the earth, has 
this rushing river cut its way inch by inch, for its onward 
course from lake to lake. Thus has the sovereign beauty of 
these falls been displayed through countless ages, with no hu- 
man eye to see. Then the wild savage beheld their marvel- 
ous grandeur, and his stolid nature was moved to reverence 
the Spirit of Great Manitou. Then came the white man, and 
planted his foot upon Niagara’s verge ; and marking the cross 
upon his breast, kneeled in w^orship before his God. No soul 
of man can here behold the mighty works of the Great Infi- 
nite, without looking through nature up to nature’s God. 

From the far distant white-caps of the plunging waters as 
they leave Lake Erie, and come thundering down the rugged 
rapids to the majestic Falls ; and then as they SAveep onward 
in a river ofi; glowing green, to be again tossed into peaks of 
Avhite foam, ere they pass through the mighty whirlpool ; 
Avhich, like a monstrous maelstrom, carries the surging tide 
down to depths unknoAvn, and thrusts it up again ; then shoot- 
ing through a narrow gorge, the waters press onward with 
more rapid rush, until they are landed miles away in the bosom 
of Lake Ontario. 

All this scene comes before the vision from our aerie on the 
bridge. Thousands like ourselves are passing to and fro, gaz- 
ing upon all this wondrous beauty from every vantage point of 
view ; and as the Avaters of the river pass onward to be suc- 
ceeded by others, yet never the same ; so Avill come here in fu- 
ture ages unnumbered millions, to gaze as Ave do now, upon 


A MOl^AL INHERITANCE. 


63 


these marvels of nature. Through every day of every year down 
through long centuries of time, may we, in our mind’s eye, be- 
hold this oncoming stream of humanity ; which, passing over 
this mighty river, now the boundary line between two kindred 
nations, may peradventure, plant the flag of the Republic upon 
the heights of Canada. 

Niagara was the home of Aseneith Allan. She was a 
worthy descendant of her brave great-grandmother. She was 
a bright, clever, noble, American girl ; than which there is 
none lovelier, none so superlatively bewitching. She was not 
only conscious that she possessed a soul, heart, and mind, as a 
matter of course, like all human beings ; but she was vividly 
impressed with her individual responsibility regarding the use 
and cultivation of that soul, heart, and mind ; and ceaselessly 
alert to allow no opportunity to elude her observation, by which 
she might help others, or improve herself. 

“Tlie What-is, however fair and bright, ought never to be 
but as the dim prophecy of the whot-is-toIbeT 

Souls destined for life immortal, in heavenly mansions, the 
glories of which “ eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither 
have entered into the heart of man to conceive the things 
which God hath prepared for them that love Him ; ” — for such 
souls, the whatAs must always inspire renewed efforts, for as 
the character grows upward, the ideals become more lofty. 

Aseneith possessed strength of nature, without being mascu- 
line ; as a man should be gentle, but not effeminate. Force 
alone in woman will not influence men to desired ends ; love 
and tenderness must be the means employed. With her moral 
inheritance of lofty ideals and steadfast aims, together with 
lier constant view of one of nature’s sublimest efforts ; — and 
Niagara is not only awesome ; but in its exquisite details of 
foam, and mists, and rainbows, partakes also of the softest 
lines of most ethereal beauty ; — -so Aseneith Allan forgot none 
of the fascinating qualities of delicate refinement, which should 
crown woman’s strengtli of character, as Niagara’s rainbow- 
tinted mists wreath the awful sublimity of the dread cataracts 
with entrancing loveliness. 

Women often defeat themselves, because they fail to remem- 
' ber that they will never gain a powerful influence over men by 
relinquishing, in the smallest degree, their feminine nature, 
either in mind, manners, speech or dress. To be keen, logi- 
cal, scientific, or metaphysical, a woman needs every particle 
of her own native intuitions ; and keeping them, does not 


64 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


necessitate that she should jump at false conclusions. But 
because, heretofore, women have been so supei'ficiallj educated, 
and had naught to fall back upon but their native intuitions, 
and so have jumped at false conclusions ; woman, must per- 
force, suffer the penalty of being pronounced a creature incap- 
able of true, logical reasoning, until her acquirements in 
science and metaphysics shall demonstrate the fallacy of such 
opinions. As a modern writer says : 

“ The more delicate graces of character, so far as they are 
founded upon modesty, and a spirit of self-withdrawal, are con- 
sistent with the most eminent and acknowledged greatness be- 
fore the world. If this is the case even with men, why not 
with wdmen, in whom the source and spring of humility lies 
deeper? Admit that in the intervening period, while she still 
has to fight for free development, there may sometimes be 
traces of the combat ; there is yet every reason to believe that, 
when this period is past, a woman may take whatever sphere 
she can win, and may yet retain all the sweetest and most 
subtle attributes that constitute her a woman.” ^ 

Aseneith Allan was a most womanly woman, efficient, hand- 
some, keen-witted, lovable, refined, and heroic. In the highest 
type of an American woman, these rather diverse traits are 
more happily and harmoniously blended than in the women of 
other nations. Home is woman’s kingdom, where she reigns as 
queen. The sesthetical side of home-life, is all that poets have 
sung, and novelists described. Nothing has ever been penned 
by mortal man or woman, that comes up to the reality of the 
blessedness of true ideal home-life. American home-life, with 
ail its shortcomings, stands for the truest home-life in the 
world. Nowhere else are to be found sucli manly men, such 
womanly women, in the highest acceptation of the terms. 
Nowhere else can be found such intelligent realization of means 
for the best development of what is truest, highest, and noblest, 
in man’s nature, woman’s needs, and children’s possibilities. 
The best American homes of to-day, are the homes par excel- 
lence of the world. Nowhere else can be found such true, 
honorable, and steadfast husbands, fathers, and sons. Nowhere 
else can be seen such intelligent, refined, capable, and lovable 
wives, mothers, and daughters. American homes of the pres- 
ent, are the only true foundations’ for the ideal homes of the 
future. American home-life is the highest realization yet 
reached, of the possibilities, which the greater intelligence of 
the masses ; the higher aspirations, and increasing moral, and 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


65 


intellectual influence of tlie motliers ; and the more practically 
skilled, and more thorough training of the children, will make, 
not only a possible hope, but a practical reality in the progres- 
sion of the age. 

Let fearful ones descant upon ‘‘ the good old times, as they 
will ! Facts show, that there were never so many happy homes 
as now ; the education and training of children were never 
before equal to the present ; home comforts were never so 
plenty; woman’s influence was never so powerful ; intelligence, 
refinement and culture, were never so general ; Christianity 
was never so far-reaching, and benevolent enterprises, were 
never so flourishing and efficient. Congenial tastes, mutual 
aspirations, constant and steady advancement, high moral aims 
in life, noble purposes, self-sacrificing devotedness to the 
uplifting of human souls and the enlightenment of the mind, 
and the training of the children to become worthy men and 
women, is just as true a reality in many American homes at the 
present time, as the marvelous success in American inventions 
and business enterprises. 

American wives love and honor their husbands, and Ameri- 
can husbands love and honor their wives, to a greater degree 
than in any other nation. Woman is not the slave, but the 
companion of man. Children are not left to the guidance of 
hired nurses, or hired tutors, to any such extent as in foreign 
countries. Children mingle more freely in the family circle ; 
they are not restricted to the nursery, until the boarding-school 
or convent receives them into a new imprisonment. A moth- 
er’s personal presence direct^ their every step and advance- 
ment, in health, manners, education, and morals ; and fathers 
are more generally the companions of their sons, and expect to 
know more about them than simply to hire theii\tutors, and 
send them for an indefinite period to travel — to learn if they 
will, or run riot if they choose. 

Bulwer, in his charming and most ingenious little book, 
entitled “ The Coming Race,” after prophesying of many of 
the marvelous improvements which may take place, proceeds 
to give the inhabitants of that delightful country wonderful 
mechanisms, in the form of wings, which, when fastened in 
place, enable their owner to fly in the air, as easily as with his 
feet he could walk upon the ground. This was all very fine, 
but the narrow views of that time, which still prejudiced the 
author in spite of all his foresight, was the statement that only 
married women were deprived of their wings ; she, being 


66 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


obliged upon her wedding-day to take them off forever, and 
hang them upon the wall in lier room, where they should con- 
tinually remind her of her subjection to her husband’s will. 
Thus Lord Lytton, with all his ingenious and prophetic imag- 
ination, failed to rightly forecast woman’s real and possible 
position in the home. Not only in the ideal home of the 
future, but even in those of the present, woman has need most 
assuredly of the wings of knowledge, culture, and enlightened 
intuitions. And in these days, wives and mothers would be 
the last to be forced to hang up their wings of social power, 
and home influence ; and men, themselves, most generously 
declare, that if any beings in the present race are blessed with 
the embryo wings of angelic spirits, it must be their honored 
American wives, mothers, and daughters. 

“ An American can have the best manners in the world, for 
he has nothing to crush him. Every man is his own master, 
and no titled aristocracy can awe into insignificance, for he is 
the truly cultured and intelligent gentleman. Brain-aristocrats 
are free-born, and in our land no rights of kings can take from 
them their royal prerogative of power. The proud remark of 
the great Napoleon, ‘ Je suis mon ancetre! ’ can be repeated by 
many big-brained men of genius in our progressive country, 
where self-made success is the birthright of our nation. And 
American women are the present and the future of American 
nobility. She has more reason than any other woman for 
being not only good, but elegant and refined. She has to make 
precedent and public opinion. She is the Republic ! Let her 
not pose as the shameless goddess of liberty of the French 
Revolution, but rather as the gentle-eyed Madonna.” 

Aseneith Allan possessed a nature which was the result of 
successive generations of heroic, self-sacrificing souls. In her 
was exemplified the possibilities of race development through 
the admixture of the best traits of several nationalities, when 
such descent has by successive generations become purified, 
and enlightened, and nationalized into a typical race. For the 
modern American is the product of the best characteristics of 
several European nations. As in Hector Ormandoff, the 
French, Russian and English were commingled ; so in Aseneith 
Allan, the English, German, and American types of character 
were united ; and through heroic times, and the environments 
of American independence, Christian influences, and educa- 
tfonal privileges, together with the moral inheritance of pure 
souls, lofty lives, and C bristly consecration, Aseneith had re- 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 67 

ceived a legacy, rich indeed, if not in eartlily dross, assuredly 
in heavenly treasures. 

Woman, as yet, is in the mere infancy of her mental devel- 
opment ; for she has only just recently been allowed to stc'p 
beyond the walls of her nursery, where her mental diet, h(U‘e- 
tofore, has been only the weak gruels of small talk, with an 
occasional hon-hon of romance. But the time is fast coming, 
nay, is indeed really here, when the following literary feast, 
may take the place of an afternoon tea. 

Twelve ladies are gathered around a repast. 

From rare and rich viands to break their long fast. 

The room is illumined with electrical lights. 

Formed by burning the carbonized wisdom of nights. 

The damask was cut from the mantle of charity. 

Which gives to the feast quite a feature of rarity. 

From the ripe fruit of knowledge was the Ethic wine made, 
And champagne of mirth flavors plain lemonade. 

From the pepper of scandal the soup is quite free, 

Though salt-seasoned with savor of sincerity. 

A large haunch of letters, embellished with jests, 

Near which a small side-dish of apt quotings rests, 

Is placed next a curry of satire and puns. 

Set-off by a plateful of Solomon’s buns. 

A chow-chow of wit and of keen repartee, 

Confronts several sauces upon a small tray. 

Of Byronian metaphors, rich in their way; 

Near which are some olives of spicy chit-chat, 

And new and old bon-7nots, stale jokes, and all that. 

A salad of gossip containing much oil 
Of good-nature, — lest vinegar of envy might spoil ; 

Is served with cold slices of Johnsonian beef, 

Cooked quite d la Boswell, by common belief. 

With a “ garnish of brains,” a side-dish of tongue, 

Is made quite ornate while some spinage from Young, 

And an Elian sauce, with a small roast of Lamb, 

Stand just vis-d-vis to a large plate of ham. 

Or Baconian logic, in more polite terms. 

With which baked beans are flavored, — so Boston affirms. 
Side-dishes of silence are placed on the buffet, 

As an ofiset to flashes d la Coleridge, they say. 


68 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


As the courses are served, for dessert, we may see. 

Frozen cream, witli an essence of polite courtesy ; 

A few tarts from the critics, with a rich jam of jokes 
With sarcasm flavored ; good digestion provokes. 

The fruits are most bountiful, and of very rare kind ; 

Apples of wisdom, from Homeric gardens, we find ; 

And large, luscious grapes, from far-famed Paradise, 

Which were gathered by Milton ; — are certainly nice. 

A few hard nuts from Socrates, we're given to crack ; 

And that in this repast, we should no good thing lack ; 

A plate of fine butter-scotch, meets the eye as one turns, 
Which was browned by the fire of old Bobby Burns. 

Shakesperean epigrams compose the cafe-mi4ait ; 

With the milk of true kindness, which is no sham, they say; 
The honey which sweetens this delicate drink. 

Was gathered from Ambrosial Fields ; — so we think. 

With such rich dessert, and with such a rare feast ; 

A small box of hon-hons^ would not matter the least. 

But if some modern 'Caterer should think it w^ortli while. 
With his sweet wares, a moment, to tiy to beguile ; 

Those w'ho like nuts of truth, without sugar-plum coating. 
May select salted almonds ; — on w’hich many are doting. 

If a sarcastic mint-drop is too biting and tart ; 

A candied June violet, brings delight to the heart: 

Oor a cocoa-nut w^afer, with breath of palm-groves perfumed 
May be nibbled with comfort, it may be presumed. 

All that one could well claim for these modern hon-boris ; 
After such a rich feast given by ancient Bon-hommes ; 

Is that materials be pure, and essences good ; 

From Nature's bright gardens, and hillsides, and wood. 

These modern hon-hons^ may be used now and then ; — 

In summer hammock swinging ; — it matters little wdien ; 

Or at the winter fireside ; — we've only this to say : 

It matters little how, or when, or what the time of day ; 

If one has satisfied his hunger with this ancient hilUof-fare ; 
Modern hon-hons^ may be safely tasted, almost anywhere. 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


69 


CHAPTER VII. 

Some twenty miles from London, was the English home of 
Hector Ormandoff. It was a pretty villa, with a modest estate 
surrounding it. Here Hector’s mother and sister had lived a 
somewhat retired life, since the death of the husband and 
father, Camille Ormandoff. Hermine Ormandoff had been true 
to her nature and descent. In this Christian home, unostenta- 
tious charities blossomed into daily blessings for the suffering 
and saddened lives around. 

A modern writer has fitly said : ‘‘ The art of selection, is the 
art of true living. A woman can accomplish little, whose life 
is a series of crises ; a kaleidoscopic rush ; a glimpse of dissolv- 
ing views. As a noted actress once said : ‘ I don’t wish to be 
pitchforked on to the stage. ^ The discrimination to see, and 
the resolution to effect desirable eliminations, are quite as 
potent in the building up of life, and in the refining and ele- 
vating of its quality, as are the things that are chosen. The 
keenest ‘ silhouette ’ of Mr. Edgar Fawcett’s series of social 
satires, is that of the woman who makes a martyr of herself, 
by going to places and entertainments for which she cares 
nothing, in order to have it known that she has been invited. 
Our existence is mostly a war of accumulations of books, 
events, and people. It is quite impossible to read everything, 
to go everywhere, to see everybody — for all of which oppor- 
tunities offer — without losing in this rush of life, the power to 
take a distinct impression. Now, to hold one’s self susceptible 
to impressions ; to keep one’s self 672 rapport with select and 
sympathetic currents ; to be responsive to the finer, and subtler 
influences ; is to hold the key to the situation.” 

Surely, this writer has solved one of the causes of super- 
ficial knowledge — ineflfectual labor. It Is this want of selection, 
which occasions the dilettanteism, sesthetical affectation of 
modern times; which makes of too many persons, mental- 
dudes ; — attired in the outward adornments of a smattering of 
fashionable information; but in reality, not possessed of any 
practically useful ideas. 


70 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


Hermine Orman doff had not only learned the art of proper 
selection, but she had also learned the equally important art, 
the necessary economy of time. Not an endeavor to consume 
time by reinstating antique customs which are behind this 
age of improvement, which attempt fritters away so many 
hours of would-be-fashionable lives. The investment of time 
must be as wisely undertaken by women, as paying financial 
investments by men. Seconds must be hoarded with more ‘ 
care than dollars even. Then comes system. Actions must 
be governed by plans fully marked out ; not left for the haphaz- 
ard moment to suggest. 

Antoinette Ormandoff, Hector’s sister, was a bright, clever 
girl ; .possessed with the gift of a pleasing speaking voice, and 
the acquired accomplishment of a refined intonation. The 
difference between those who pretend, and those who are true, 
in society, is the difference between those people whom Thack- 
eray calls snobs, and those who are in reality ladies and gen- 
tlemen. Antoinette Ormandoff was witty, without being loud; 
entertaining, without being self-conscious. To entertain others 
acceptably and successfully, demands attention to various 
things. Among them may be enumerated voice, manners, tact, 
accomplishments, imagination, individuality, politeness, educa- 
tion, wit, brevity, repartee, ethics of dress, and the art of con- 
versation. 

Edward Everett Hale says : There is no particular method 
about talking, or talking well. It is one of the things in life 
which ‘does itself,’ and if one fails in talking it is because they 
have not yet applied the simple master rules of Life : ‘ Tell 

the truth, confess ignorance, and talk to the person who is 
talking to you.’ ” 

A forceful and magnetic manner lies in the happy mean be- 
tween an air of indifference and being too boldly forthputting. 

“ Manner is everything with some people, and something with 
everybody;” and ease of manner can only become habitual by 
acquiring gracefulness and naturalness of pose, and then re- 
membering that others are probably totally indifferent to 'where 
we are standing, or what we are doing, being absorbed in their 
own individual interests. 

Antoinette, through her French blood mingling with her 
more conventional English nature, possessed more dash of pres- 
ence, than most English girls ; which w^as tempered by perfect 
courtesy, making her a great favorite in her social circle. Suc- 
cess in society is like electricity — it makes itself felt, and yet 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


71 


is unseen and cannot be described. Intelligence and tact are 
indispensable; but accomplishments, such as a talent for music, 
art, or elocution, are aids to popularity. Wit that is true 
humor, and sometimes elegant satire, sheathed in a soft and 
flowing melody of words, may fascinate, like the flash of a 
diamond half concealed by satin folds. The wit of one age is 
said to be the stupidity of the next. But I think the true re- 
finement of this age even, would prefer the elegant humor of 
an Addison, Sidney Smith, Steele, or Slieridan, to the coarse 
modern wit of bad spelling and bad pronunciation. 

Women often defeat themselves in their efforts to advance 
their own interests by their manners, A man may be coarse 
and gruff, unrefined and untidy, and yet be a good champion 
of a good cause; a woman, never! Beauty was God-given to 
Eve ; and fragrance and delicacy were God-given gifts to the 
flowers. As well expect the thorn to be as acceptable as the 
rose, or the coarse prickly leaves of the thistle to be esteemed 
as beautiful as the phantom-like down which floats forth from 
the heart of the blossom like a spirit of air, as to imagine that 
woman will gain power by assuming the careless, uncouth, 
brusque, loud manners, which are licensed in man. Why ? — 
It boots not to say ; the fact remains, and women must profit 
by it. 

Aseneith Allan had been traveling in England with her 
friend, Miss Eulalie Everard, whose father, being a widower, 
had taken the two girls for a trip abroad. Aseneith Allan had 
been left an orphan, a few years before ; and desiring to be in- 
dependent of her relations, she had added to her small inherited 
income by literary efforts. She was a strikingly handsome 
girl, with clear brunette skin, with the crlkm tints just deepen- 
ing to peach bloom in her cheeks; aud her blue-black hair 
coroneting her well-poised head wdth shining braids, forming a 
fitting background for her gleaming eyes. Her eyes ! — well, 
eyes have been raved of, and inanely descanted upon by thou- 
sands of daft writers of fair woman’s charms. All the vocabu- 
lary of adjectives has been exhausted upon women’s eyes, 
and still, such as hers had never been described. 

An owner of many precious stones, was once displaying his 
treasures. Taking from his safe a small bag, he poured out a 
quantity of glistening diamonds, which appeared like a foun- 
tain of pure liquid light, as they fell in a shining heap, where 
the rainbow-tints flashed from their depths in such myriad 
hues, that the beholders were entranced with the gorgeous dis- 


72 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


play. But the owner said. ‘‘Just wait for a moment, I will 
show you something finer than these ! ’’ Going again to his 
safe, he brought out another small bag. Holding it by one 
corner, he poured forth a stream of jewels, which glowed with 
an imprisoned fire, like star-gleams, flashing forth from a clear 
midnight sky. So soft were the deep rich tints of the stones, 
ranging from amber through the glows of the ruby and rose- 
tinted grays, with the rainbow hues intermingled with fiaslies 
of liglit like the gleam of the lightning, that the beholders 
exclaimed in amazement : “ What are these wonderful stones ? ’’ 

“ They are diamonds of color ! ” he answered. “ I think them 
much finer than the white stones — and see ! ’’ he continued. 
“ This black diamond ! ” — as he held to the light one large 
stone, blazing like red Mai'S in the deep arch of heaven — then 
paling to the bluish tint of fair Venus; — and again black 
as night, with only a faint glow in its depths to betoken the 
hidden fire, which in an instant would flash forth like a star- 
gleam. Such were the eyes of Aseneith Allan. Black 
diamonds ! 

Antoinette Ormandoff had met Aseneith Allan at the house 
of a friend, and a warm friendship had sprung up between the 
two clever and high-principled girls. 

Hector Ormandoff, since his return fi’om Paris, had taken 
up life in earnest, and had been for three years devoting his 
time to the study of law. Notwithstanding his intense admira- 
tion for bis intelligent mother and sister, his superficial life in 
Paris had given him some erroneous opinions regarding woman’s 
mental acquirements. He was experiencing a much tougher 
side to life, than he l^xl been before conscious of ; and he fotmd 
making his own livemiood, a very different matter from squan- 
dering inherited wealth. That their lessened income might 
not incommode his mt^ther and sister, he had put his hand man- 
fully to the burden, and no longer aimlessly resolved, but reso- 
lutely acted. 

“Merit, even of the highest, without a corresponding good 
manner, is like a flower without perfume, or a tree without 
leaves.” The mere veneering of manner which some English- 
men have, is not good breeding. Hector Ormandoff was a true 
gentleman, with no taint of the snob. But his politeness arose 
more from innate chivalry, than prescribed good form. He was 
very different from the English attache^ who, though accustom- 
ed from his birth to the best society, could be guilty of the fol- 
lowing act of boorishness. 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


73 


This attache had once accepted a lady’s invitation to accom- 
pany her to some teas in New York, and as he had brought letters 
to lier, she felt obliged to pay him this attention, and named an 
hour when he was to be at her house, and she took him thence 
to some of the best families in New York. He amused him- 
self in the carriage by humming tunes, and assuming an air of 
total indifference. As she was a lady, she could not show by 
her manner that she was disgusted ; but took him where she 
had promised, and then drove home. When they reached her 
door, her footman rang the bell, and the young Englishman 
walked up to the door with her, when he remarked : 

‘‘ I say — aw, I’ve had an awfully nice time I Let’s go together 
again some day, don’t you know ? ” 

No ! ” said the lady, bowing and entering her own door ; 
“ I fear that your musical repertoire is exhausted. Good-after- 
noon ! ” 

Subsequently, this snubbed individual, a conventional, but 
not a real gentleman, tried to apologize : 

— aw didn’t know—aw, don’t you see, that you’d mind my 
singing over here, don’t you know ? Thought you were pretty 
free and easy here ; sorry, ’pon my word.” 

“Would you have ‘behaved in the same manner at home, 
and in the company of a duchess ? ” said the lady. 

u Aw — no — duchess awful swell — don’t you see ! ’Twouldn’t 
be good form over there — don’t you know ? ” 

“ Remember then, hereafter,” said the lady, “ that all 
American women are duchesses, and must be treated according 
to their rank.” 

In the home of the Ormandoffs, courtesy was truly nat- 
ural living, not society veneering. The art of entertaining 
is founded, outwardly, at least, upon the fundamental 
rules of Christian courtesy. “ Meekness is the Christian 
virtue ; modesty is the manner of the well-bred. Peace is the 
Christian command ; harmony is the social exemplification of 
it. Self-denial is a Christian duty ; forgetfulness of self is the 
creed of polite society.” Thus an outward form, at least, of 
Christian courtesy, is necessary to success in social circles. We 
all of us have met people whose powers of voice and manners, 
exercised an irresistible fascination. They would always be in 
the fashion, for they are the types after which fashion should 
be modeledc 


74 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

‘‘Hector, dear, IVe a favor to ask.” 

“ Well, Toy, what is the weighty favor ? Some new rib- 
bon, or gewgaw from the city ? Or the latest novel of non- 
sense, fermented by the frothy sweetness of w'oman’s in- 
sipidity ? ” 

“ Oh, Hector ! If I were not your sister, you would at least 
not forget your politeness ! ” answered Antoinette Ormandoff. 
“ But I w^on’t expatiate upon the discourtesy of your remark 
to me, considering the fact that I’m a woman, and am also 
quoted by less prejudiced mortals than my august and learned 
brother, as being somewhat clever, too. But enough of self- 
assertion ! I will assume woman’s winning grace of persuasion, 
and humbly ask rny favor.” 

“ Well, Toy, dear, excuse a fellow’s grulfness ! You must 
acknowledge the sweet insipidity of most women’s nonsense, 
though I must gallantly pronounce you a clever exception. 
Perchance, association with so smart a brother, may possibly 
explain such a phenomenon of feminine attainments ! ” 

“ Talk, indeed, of vanity ! Its personal exemplification is 
surely man! But you cannot tease me into ill-nature, brother 
mine, be you ever so lordly, or exasperating 1 I come not now 
to argue, but to beg. Three of my dearest friends are coming 
next week to visit me, and I humbly crave all due attention, 
and gallant consideration for my fair guests, from you, and 
your expected bachelor savans.” 

“Of all tilings. Toy, to thus break in upon our intended 
masculine delights ! If you were not the best little sister that 
ever an old bachelor lawyer was blessed with, I could not 
tamely submit to be thus bearded in my lordly den, by a pack 
of chattering monkeys — No insult intended, dear! — You see, 
if Darwin says our ancestors were apes, fair woman’s were also 
of the monkey tribe. Though I will give her the credit to as- 
sert, that she has been evolved from all the faults and blemishes 
of her monkey progenitors, into a most beauteous creature ; re- 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 75 

taining no taint of her humble beginning, except, perhaps^ her 
chattering tongue ! ” 

“ ‘ Out of thine own mouth thou art condemned ! ’ most proud 
and haughty egotist! For, prithee, whose tongue has 
chattered loudest and longest this morning? And though I 
dare to say it who should not, you have spoken only nonsensical 
gibberisli, more frothy than woman’s idlest sayings ; — for she at 
least, talks of something, be it only her pretty self; while your 
sage remarks have neither been founded upon, nor contained 
one atom of truth or reason, though you pride yourself on- 
logical conclusions ! ” 

‘‘ Ah, well I if I mistakenly supposed that I playfully en- 
tertained a pretty sister, whereas I was conversing with a 
stately Portia, learned in logic’s lore ; — I will forswear my 
idle wit; which, forsooth, appears ill-timed and misinterpreted ; 
— and humbly crave your kindly pardon ; and beg to know 
who our fair captors are to be, and how we must display our 
masculine attainments for their diversion ? Shall we play 
roaring lions, thundering forth our wisdom for their mind’s en- 
lightenment and nerve-discipline ? Or shall we make puppets 
of ourselves, and dance upon the tight rope of their inane re- 
marks ; consenting to jump up or down, in mental gymnastics, 
as they shall pull the wires of thought ? ” 

‘‘ As to the first of your questio'ns ; — and by the way, me- 
thinks ’tis only woman’s prerogative to ask more than one ques- 
tion at a time ; I thought man too logical for such an unrea- 
sonable proceeding ; — but to my statements. Know you then, 
all men, to whom it may concern ; that, Miss Eulalie Everard, 
Miss Aseneith Allan, Miss Lucille Fielding, and Miss An- 
toinette Ormandoff, have entered into partnership to engage in 
the lawful business of subjugating manly pjide, and putting 
dow^^ unlawful oppression ; -and we do most solemnly swear 
that we will use our utmost endeavors to bring to subjection, 
and orderly discipline, those rough and wicked rebels who dare 
to revolt against the lawful authority of woman’s claims to the 
most unbounded devotion to her imperial wishes. For let 
rebel man, with humility, remember ; that the apple from the 
Tree of Knowledge was not procured by Adam’s lordly supe- 
riority of mind, or inventive genius ; but was the gift of Eve ; 
and though man now prates of woman’s mental inferiority, 
she tasted of the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge. In re- 
gard to your other questions; as to what part of Barnum’s cir- 
cus you should imitate, to amuse our silly and infantine com- 


76 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


prehensions; — suffice it to say, wherever four bachelor savans 
appear, puffing and strutting with lordly pomposity, and bom- 
bastically parading their intellectual accomplishments, there 
will always be clowns enaugh to supply any circus with stale 
wit/’ 

‘‘ Why, Toy, are you becoming a sarcastic sneerer? — a pe- 
dantic man-hater ? ” 

No, dear ! only showing wdiat an apt pupil of yours I 
am.” 

“ Well, if your fair friends are pretty, even if they are silly, 
I think we may be able to endure their presence. But oh, I 
trust they do not pretend to be wise I — A wise woman! — Can 
Wisdom and Woman ever agree in aught, except that they 
both be<yin witli a bi^r W — in man’s estimation?” 

O O 

‘‘Of course it would not matter to your logical mind, dear, 
that the ancient Egyptians represented their highest ideal of 
the personification of wisdom and intellet, as the goddess 
Neith ! Of course it is not at all inconsistent, that men should 
make Kingly Science, bow to the authority of Queenly Na- 
ture ! If wisdom is impossible to w^oman, why crowm the 
works of man’s inventive genius with feminine piefixes and 
pronouns ? Why associate, even in figurative language, such 
impossible ideas as femininity,, and wisdom or genius? But 
have no fears, brother mine ! Woman’s intellect wdll take care 
of itself; and we will ybt teach sceptical men, that we can be 
both wise and winning ; and that not all pretty women, are, 
forsooth, therefore, silly ; nor every ugly woman, straightway, 
a yearning aspirant for man’s apparel ; nor every good house- 
keeper, necessarily, an ignoramus concerning all literature out 
of cook-books ; nor, vice versa, every well-read, thoroughly 
educated woman, forsooth, a shiftless wife and mother! Self- 
asserting savans of old, have been known to believe in i^auj 
errors, and scoff at many afterward demonstrated facts ! ” 

“ Well, well, learned reasoner ! From wdiat modern Soc- 
rates have you been imbibing those sage ideas ? Perhaps you 
would like to take a morning dose of Blackstone, to give a 
tonic to the insipid concoction of woman’s usual intellectual 
libations I Bring forth your fair goddesses of Grace and 
Beauty, if you will ; but we challenge you to supply the wit 
for our intellectual repasts. For remember ! though you can 
sometimes furnish quite a spicy remark, those other forlorn 
damsels have not had the advantage of the companionship and 
instruction of so learned a brother ! ” 


A MORAL^ INHERITANCE, 


77 


If you had said self-conceit^ my dear, our case would in- 
deed be hopeless ; for vainest woman was never yet so vain as 
man ! ” - 

A week later, in her English country home, Antoinette Or- 
mandoff had welcomed with delight her three favorite friends ; 
and Hector Ormandoff had also duly received, with proper 
decorum, his learned and distinguished masculine acquaint- 
ances, Dr. Egbert Wentworth, Edgar Lewellyn, Esq., and 
Professor Thomas Evermond. 

Previous to a general introduction of the guests to each 
other, there had been a special session of each respective par- 
ty, with closed doors, and no reporters admitted. The subject 
of discussion at these important meetings, can be imagined from 
a few remarks dropped by Hector and Antoinette to their re- 
spective visitors, as each marshaled their party to march to the 
drawing-room, where all the guests were to be presented to 
each other. 

Hector said: Now, Doc., I’ll warrant you they are silly 

enough anyhow ; but mark my word ! the prettiest one will 
have the emptiest head ; and as I could not be impolite to 
my friends. I’ll make a martyr of myself, and endeavor to 
curb my soaring intellect sufficiently to keep within polite 
attention to her silly notions. I’d give her to you. Prof., 
but as this is your vacation, you may have my sister, as you 
need some rest from the wearing vocation of teaching. I 
flatter myself, I’ve taught her enough to at least compre- 
hend a common-sense remark, without deafening a fellow’s 
ears with the exclamations, ‘ How perfectly lovely ! ’ — ‘ How 
maddeningly delightful, you know ! ’ — ‘ How divinely deli- 
cious ! ’ — in usual girl-vocabulary. Edgar, old fellow, you 
and Doc. will have to take your pick between the other two 
damsels ; but you know that lawyers and doctors must get hard- 
ened to every kind of affliction. Perhaps you might throw 
straws for the prettiest one, or each select the style wdiich 
will set off to the best advantage his own manly charms, by 
an harmonious contrast.” 

Antoinette wdiispered to her beautiful American friend : 
‘‘Now Aseneith, dear, don’t let Hector know for the world 
that you ever wrote a book ! It is a blessing that your charm- 
ing story was published anonymously, and that your brilliant 
essays appeared with a nom de flume. Hector has often 
spoken of them with praise. But I was wise enough to keep 




78 


A MORAL INHERITAAXE. 


my own secret ; for I w^anted him to know you, and some- 
how, he has taken a grudge against learned women. So play 
your prettiest and your most winning wiles, my dear! Hector 
will do the talking for two, never fear. Eulalie and Lucille, 
you shall take your choice between that sharp lawyer and bril- 
liant doctor. As for myself, Vll take the professor. He must 
be quite harmless, and he might turn out to be a little stupid 
— they sometimes do, you know — and I wish my friends to 
be well entertained.’’ 

Introductions over. Hector and Antoinette were both well 
])lcased at the supposed incidental arrangement of their re- 
spective guests, as they proceeded to the dining-room. 

‘‘ She is certainly beautiful enough to atone for some silli- 
ness ! ” thought Hector, as he turned to his companion with 
the usual compliments of the dinner-table. 

While Lucille, who had whispered to Antoinette, at the 
door : ‘‘ I’ll play the blue-stocking !” turned to Doctor Went- 
worth with the remark : Is not the study of the inhibitory 
nerves, as compared with the motor nerves, most profoundly 
exhilarating ? ’•’ 

To which the doctor, with a look of horror toward Hector, 
wickedly replied : Very ! but that is a subject I have not yet 
mastered. Can you favor me with your definition of the in- 
hibitory nerves, and what part of the body you think the least 
under their control? ” 

‘‘ Oh, certainly I They are the nerves of prohibition, or re- 
straint ; and men think them most weak in their control of wo- 
man’s tongue,” replied Lucille, with a look of triumph toward 
Antoinette. 

“ Perhaps Miss Allan would resent that ? ” rejoined Hector, 
cavalierly. 

“Oh, not at all,” demurely answered Aseneith. ‘^I would 
only add, that the fast half hour has led me to conjecture, 
that man’s tongue might also be lacking in its supply of those 
prohibitory nerves.” 

“ Too beautiful to be wise ! ” muttered Hector to himself ; 
“ but not so confoundedly silly after all ! ” 

“ Neith, dear, Hector is incorrigible in his vanity concern- 
ing the profound depths of the unapproachable wisdom con- 
cealed beneath man’s pardonable loquacity. And I fear no ar- 
rows from the ruby how of woman’s li[)S, can pierce Ids unfeel- 
ing and sublime cont(‘rn[)t for womanly wisdom,” calmly re- 
marked Antoinette from the head of the table. Having thus 


A MORAL INHERITANCL. 


79 


adroitly stimulated the conversation at the other end of the 
table, she turned with easy grace to the professor on her right 
hand, and listened politely to a graphic account of Alpine 
travel. Though, thanks to Hector, she did not exclaim “ Ho\v 
maddeningly delightful ! ’’ she did think, however, that the 
professor was very far from proving a stupid companion. 

Mrs. Ormandoff, who presided at the table, had been inform- 
ed by Antoinette of the proposed plot, and she therefore main- 
tained a discreet silence ; listening, with amused face and in - 
terested manner, to the various remarks ; displaying that rare? 
and delightful tact so highly prized in a chaperon, the power 
to silently manifest kindly interest, without officiously oflering 
opinions. 

“ Why does my sister call you ‘ Neith,’ Miss Allan ? I 
thought your name was Aseneith ? ” questioned Hector. Then 
remembering a former conversation with his sister, lie thought : 
“ I wonder if she is Toy’s model for a goddess of Intellect ! I 
think my wise little sister, for once, has made a slight mistake.” 
And then aloud, he said : “ Do you remember the Egyptian 

goddess Neith, Miss Allan ? ” 

Aseneith answered, with rare tact : ‘‘ I recollect reading 
somewhere, that Macrobius described her as ‘ that virtue of 
the sun which administers prudence to the human mind.’ ” 

‘‘But what think you of the ancient Egyptians who sup- 
posed her to be the personification of the intellect ? You ob- 
serve modern man has learned better I ” boastfully rejoined 
Hector. 

“ Perhaps that is one of the lost arts, which modern man 
has failed yet to discover; but which the goddess herself, out of 
pity to his blind ignorance, will yet reveal to him,” Aseneith 
archly replied. 

“ Why, Jupiter ! I do believe the girl has actually read 
something besides novels ! ” muttered Hector, under his breath ; 
and he cast a quick glance across the table to his sister, to try 
and discover what game she was playing with him now. But 
Antoinette was busy with the professor, and did not heed his 
glances ; and Aseneith herself, looked so demurely pretty, 
that he again took courag^in the thought of his unselfishness, 
in condescending, with his brilliant mental attainments, to 
waste his time upon a pretty silly woman. 

Meanwhile, Mr. Edgar Lewellyn found Miss Eulalie Ever- 
ard quite his match in repartee. But he said to himself : “ Oh, 
yes ! a woman can sometimes flash a little ; but she can never 


So 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


argue worth a cent ! ” Then turning to Antoinette, he said : 
‘‘Miss Ormandoff, how do women answer that old saying, 

‘ Woman convinced against her will, 

Is of the same opinion still ? ^ ” 

“ By replying, sir, 

* Man never is convinced at all ; 

Though wrong opinions cause his fall ! ^ ” 

answered Antoinette, smilingly; while the professor, with mock 
surprise, said to Hector: “Why, I had supposed that you had 
proved yourself a better teacher, old fellow ! ” 

This dinner-table talk, led both parties to secure other se- 
cret sessions of their respective members. 

Hector, as the leader of his party, exclaimed: “ See here, 
old fellows, these girls are not quite so silly as we thought them. 
I wouldnT have believed that a woman as beautiful as Miss 
Allan, could have any thoughts beyond her own pretty 
self ; for usually, you know, pretty faces and empty heads go 
together. If beautiful women are going to attempt wisdom, 
we will have to look out. For thougli their supposed 
logic may be weak, their melting glances are most provokingly 
strong. One can argue with an ugly w^oman, and unfeelingly 
demolish her egotistical and foolish assertions ; but weak logic 
from pretty lips, is not quite so easily resisted.’’ 

Antoinette, as the spokesman of her feminine forces, remarked, 
as the girls gathered in her apartment, to spend the afternoon 
in making fancy articles for a cliarity fair: “I am afraid, girls, 
that we were almost too brilliant, and not quite strategic 
enough. Neith, dear, you must try to appear more inane ; — 
more foolishly pretty, you know ! Lucille, you almost over- 
did the pedantic has-hleii. And Eulalie was altogether too 
witty for the comfort of Mr. Edgar Lewellyn’s self-conceit.” 

“ ‘ Oh, wad some power the giftie gie us, 

To see oursels as others see us ! ’ 

cried Aseneith, poising on her finger a blush rose which slie 
had just deftly formed from pink tissue-paper. “ Pray, fair 
admonisher, answer the question : Wlio dared, not only to be 
sarcastic and severe, but — more shocking still — had the un- 
heard-of presumption, to add in rhyme a couplet to an old and 
time-honored saying, in the august presence of lordly men of 
mighty intellect? ” 

“ I plead guilty ! ” laughed Antoinette, who was daintily 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


8l 


sprinkling a linen doily with small buttercups, in delicate em- 
broidery of golden silk. “ But really, we must not disclose 
our angel wings of thought too soon, to these benighted mor- 
tals ; lest they take flight, before the searching light of our 
discerning intellects. To-morrow I have planned to have a 
picnic, and a row upon the river ; and we wall play simple 
maidens, or silly human butterflies, or weak-brained fashion- 
able fools, or any of the other charming creatures they fondly 
declare we are ; — and so, forsooth, we must be, to their way of 
thinking, in spite of all our protestations, until their logical 
minds shall be convinced by fact and reason, of their false sup- 
positions.’’ 

And, indeed,” rejoined Aseneith, ‘‘ they are hardly to be 
blamed ; for so many women seem to think it witching, to play 
the fool for man’s diversion. ’Tis true, if man did not like 
folly, woman would not be so impolitic as to run the risk of 
gaining his contempt, rather than his admiration, by thus ignor- 
ing her jmind, and thinking only of her manners. But when 
men shall 'experience the delight of associating only with cul- 
tured and well-educated women ; — when wife, mother, sister, 
and lady friends, shall charm him by the brightness of their 
thoughts, as well as of their eyes ; by the richness and brill- 
iancy of their mental adornments, as well as by the flash of 
their diamonds ; by the roundness, and perfectly developed 
beauty of their minds, as well as by the pleasing curves of 
dimpled cheek, or snowy arm ; by the glorious glow^ of intel- 
lectual light upon the features, as well as by the silly senseless 
smile of insipidity : when the tempting rosy bow of woman’s 
curving lips shall prove a bow of promise, flashing forth rain- 
bow-tinted thoughts of matchless beauty to soften the storms of 
man’s sterner intellectual conflicts ; as well as being a cupid’s 
bow to send forth darts of ‘ unkissed kisses,’ of which modern 
aesthetes rave ; — then shall love’s highest mission be fulfilled. 
But ^ tell it not in Gath, publish it not in the streets of Ask- 
alon I ’ ” Aseneith continued, as she finished her spray of 
pink roses, and proceeded to put together one of those ethereal 
fancy concoctions, termed “ Castles-in-the-Air Woman 

must prove her intellect, not preach it! Man, himself, must 
be the proud discoverer of this hitherto supposed undiscovered 
country. He must be the Columbus, who shall find already 
Avaiting hi« possession, the beauteous land of woman’s intel- 
lectual America ; which God Himself has enriched with gold 
mines of thought and genius, which wait only man’s earnest 


82 


A MORAL inheritance. 


and appreciative seeking to bless bis life and liis home with 
their inexhaustible supply of inspiration and spiritual wealth ! ’’ 

I think, Neith, dear, from Hector’s forlorn expression, he 
wishes you were either not so winning, or else not quite so 
wise. For he has often said, ‘ When you can show me a 
woman possessed of brains and beauty too, I will begin to 
think she may be wise without losing the charms which make 
her most attractive in the eyes of men.’ ” 

“ But, Toy, dear, how does he explain your cleverness ? 
For really, he cannot be so blind as to call you plain, even 
though he is your brother,” said Eulalie, who was busily en- 
gaged in making a white lace cover for some fair lady’s dainty 
dressing-table. 

‘‘ Don’t flatter a vain woman, my gentle friend ! He does 
not quarrel about my beauty. As to my brains ! — he calmly 
and generously declares them to be only a reflection of his owm, 
and modestly presents me to the world as an example of the 
truth of Paul’s admonition to aspiring feminine minds — that 
they should learn of their lordly masters whate’er of knowledge 
it were well for their feeble intellects to grasp ! ” 

“ It is very evident,” said Aseneith, lifting her thistle-down- 
like Castle-in-the-Air,” and swaying it with graceful motion, 
that the Apostle Paul did not entertain a very high opinion of 
women. It may have been because his experience of feminine 
nature had been unfortunate ; or it may have been, tliat his 
prophetic vision enlightened his understanding to comprehend 
and forecast just the kind of w^omen who would be the most 
likely to endeavor to give publicity to their short-sighted and 
ignorant opinions. The history of the emancipation of woman 
from her mental and moral servitude, — from which she is grad- 
ually and grandly obtaining her true social status, intended for 
her by her Creator, when He made her and gave her as an 
helpmate., not slave, of man — this very history proves the 
prophetic vision of Paul ; for the cause has been retarded, and 
disgraced by the very kind of women wdio were evidently 
meant by him, when he enjoined silence upon the feminine 
portion of his flock.” 

Women often defeat themselves,” rejoined Antoinette, as 
she finished her buttercup doily, and commenced another one, 
ornamented with daisy designs; “by imagining, that simply 
because they are women, ungrammatical speech, illogical argu- 
ments, nasal tones, and whining exhortations, must per force 
be accepted out of very gallantry to their sex. And, though. 


A MORAL mHLRiTANCM. 


S3 

in tlieir garb, they deem it advisable to assume the masculine 
air, to increase their persuasive force and independent bearing ; 
they seem to think, that simply because they are women, if 
tliey, with didactic force, propound a theology, which is half 
Biblical and half self-drawn conclusions from their own igno- 
rance ; if it have only a pious intonation, it must convert ; for 
men must per force acknowledge woman’s moral influence. 
Political and reformatory questions, which even men cannot 
grapple with, must be instantly settled at their demand, because 
they are women ; and so, on the one side, they claim rights 
because they are equal to man ; in the same breath they 
demand those riglits, simply because they are women ; for- 
getting, that when they meet men in the political, theological, 
scientiflc, or metaphysical arena, they must stand or fall exactly 
as he does — according to their own mental strength and logical 
conclusions, founded on indisputable premises and acknowl- 
edged axioms.” 

“I agree with you, girls, most decidedly,” remarked Mrs. 
Orman doff, who had been listening with keen interest to the 
spirited discussion, and had entered fully into the fun of 
Antoinette’s plot. The opinions of an uneducated and 
unrefined man,” she continued, “ may have both force and 
sound common-sense; for his every-day life in the world, 
necessitates a sharpness of mind, and a keenness of vision, 
which is of itself a sort of education, though it be not scien- 
tific nor artistic. But the opinions of an ignorant and unre- 
fined woman, from the hitherto restricted horizon of her vis- 
ion, must necessarily be illogical and weak ; and so will defeat 
the very object for which she labors. An unfortunate trait of 
poor human nature, both masculine and feminine, is every day 
exemplified by the fact that men and women who possess little 
of true sensitive refinement, are the most forth -putting, and 
express their illogical and weak opinions with an amount of 
assurance astounding to people whose knowledge asfiir exceeds 
their bold ignorance, as the strength of the elephant exceed(Ml 
that of tlie foolish frog, who, according to the fable, thought 
swelling and puffing could increase liis petty hide to the dimen- 
sions of the massive beast before him.” 

‘‘ Do you not think, Mrs. Ormandoff,” asked Asen^th, hang- 
ing up her ‘‘ Castle-in-the-Air ” by means of a dainty ribbon 
fastened to the chandelier ; and taking from a table near by, 
some dedicate, but more practical knitting of pink wool, and 
commencing to work with her usual energy ; “ that women 


84 


A MORAL inheritance. 


often lessen tlieir power by angularity, ungracefulness, and ba^ 
taste ? 

“ Most truly ! responded Mrs. Ormandoff, who was en. 
gaged in the common-sense line of needle-work ; making 
kitchen aprons, which necessities always find a ready sale at 
such fairs. “ Gough tells of the flash of a diamond ring, which 
he once wore, and which caused a lady to remark, after one of 
his greatest efforts in oratory, that she ‘just watched that ring 
sparkle all the evening,’ seemingly totally unconscious of the 
words she had listened to ; so will bad dressing, ungraceful 
manners, and nasal tones of voice, in the opinions of men, rob 
the strongest appeal of half its power. Whereas, at the same 
time, the simplest ballad from the lips of a graceful, well- 
dressed, modest appearing lady, at the same place, and upon 
the same platform, will move his tenderest emotions. Why ? — 
it boots not to say ; the fact remains, and let women profit by 
it!” 

“Yes,” rejoined Aseneith ; “it is not tlie ungraceful, loud- 
voiced, ill-dressed, ranting platform reformers, who influence 
and control the bills passed by the legislative halls of our Gov- 
ernment. ’Tis sadly true, however, that women do influence 
them ; the hind of w^omen is a most lamentable but undeniable 
fact. But, perhaps politics would be purer, and Christianity 
advance faster, did woman understand her real power, and how 
to use it for good ; and not leave it for bad women to prove, 
that a woman must be graceful and pleasing, and at least out- 
w^ardly refined and elegant, as well as educated and logical, to 
influence man.” 

“ Men will be influenced by women,” rejoined Mrs. Orman- 
doff ; “ and every wdfe, mother, and sister in the land, sliould 
see to it that their own petty-mindedness, and 'weak (because 
unexercised) brains, do not leave it for other bad, though it 
must be confessed, much smarter women, to wield the power 
for evil, .which they could hold in their own hands for good, did 
they but use and increase the talents which God has given 
them, and for which He will surely hold them to an account.” 

“What do you consider to be woman’s place in the world, 
Mrs. Ormandoff?” asked Aseneith, pausing a moment in her 
rapid knitting. 

“ I think woman’s place in the world,” replied Mrs. Orman- 
doff, as she threaded her needle, “ is in any capacity or'sphere 
which she lias the requisite capabilities to fill with intelligent 
and practically successful results. At the present day, woman 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


85 


has every right which she has thus far shown herself competent 
to maintain ; and every avenue is open to her ambition, which 
her mental powers and skilled training shall demonstrate her 
fitness to enter. That woman has not already taken her place 
by the side of man in the political, scientific, or metaphysical 
arena, does not argue her unfitness and incapacity se ; but 

rather the necessity of laying the question on the table, to be 
decided only after the experiment has been fully tried of bring- 
ing her brain-powers up to their utmost development, through 
an equal course of mental training and persistent study, as that 
which is exacted from her collegiate brother. Not until it shall 
have been demonstrated that woman's brain is incapable of 
equal development under the same training, will the fact be 
proven that woman is mentally inferior to man. That man’s 
mind is different from w^oman’s in its methods of arriving at 
the same results, does not necessitate an inferiority on her 
side ; that an electric current is different in its methods of 
operation from a steam engine, does not detract on either side 
from their inherent strength and vital force.’^ 

‘‘ There has been hot discussion in America,” said Aseneith, 
“ upon the subject of woman’s suffrage. It seems to me, that 
at the present time, woman needs education more than suf- 
frage ; skilled training, rather than a continued clamoring for 
an enlargement of rights which she already possesses, and 
which wait only her demonstrated fitness. The words of the 
Apostle Paul, that ‘ women should keep silence,’ have been 
used with supposed overwhelming conviction, (that is, to their 
own minds), by many men whose estimates of woman’s capa- 
bilities have been based upon their own lamentable experience 
of being surrounded by weak and petty-minded women.” 

‘‘ As most of our convictions are founded upon our own ex- 
perience,” rejoined Mrs. Ormandoff, resuming her sewing, 
“ when men sweepingly declare that woman’s mind is either 
incapable or unworthy of high development, and that her only 
sphere is in the petty routine of daily duties, (that her sphere 
is there, we don’t pretend to deny ; only contending that it is 
not her entire sphere., when she has the talent or genius to 
enlarge it ) ; when men make such short-sighted observations, 
they simply declare to the world that their wives, mothers, 
sisters, and feminine acquaintances have all been among piti- 
ably weak-brained, and superficially educated women ; and 
when a woman is petty in her nature, and possesses an uncul- 
tured, frivolous mind, even though she may have some smatter- 


&6 A MOJiAL INHERITANCE. 

ing of accomplishments, we agree with men that she is most 
lamentably weak.” 

“ I feel,” said Aseneith, ‘‘ that when woman’s education 
sliall have broadened and enlarged her mental horizon, until 
her mental vision upon the political and reformatory outlook is 
as far-reaching as that of the most intelligent of men, then will 
she be fitted to make wise use of such a power, and then will 
she surely gain it, if she need it. To argue that ignorant, 
coarse, wicked and debased men are allowed a privilege of 
which she is denied, would not be a powerful plea to her refined 
nature, did she stop to realize that the so-called privilege of 
these Ignorant voters, is that of bartering their votes for 
whiskey, and the enslaving of their free wills. Better be a 
woman forbidden to vote, than a man selling his vote and man- 
liness, on account of his ignorance and vice, to the politician 
wdio would bestialize the nature of his willing slave. Until 
women can understand, and reason logically upou all questions 
of political moment, let them not yearn for the privilege of 
being counted as so many vidimus whose free wills must be 
sacrificed upon the altar of ignorance.” 

“ That many women in your land are as capable to cope 
with these questions successfully as any man, is already a dem- 
onstrated fact,” said Mrs. Ormandoff ; “ but in this, as in many 
other instances, the few must suffer awhile, that the mass be 
not enslaved. Until both parties are equally competent to 
judge, and choose for themselves, independently of either’s 
coercion, let us not desire that political wrangles between hus- 
bands and wives, fathers and daughters, shall help to add the 
fuel of political discord to the fire of ignorance and self-will. 
And until the majority of women shall be raised above the 
ignorance of some of their number, who even think themselves 
capable of instructing others, I doubt if woman’s suffrage 
would very materially clear the political horizon from the 
clouds which hang over it. That educated women have success- 
fully guided vast political interests, and shown themselves 
capable of diplomatic powers equal to those of men, history 
most plainly reveals. If a place in politics is ever to be 
woman’s, let every woman politician see to it, that she becomes 
a Jeanne d*Alhret in discipline of mind, unimpeachable integ- 
rity, fearless promulgation of religious principles, and unflinch- 
ing courage.” 

‘‘ Woman’s suffrage is not necessary to the solving of the 
greatest difficulty which meets us in our American homes,” 


I 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


87 


rejoined Aseneith. It is not necessary that Bridget should 
excitedly throw the half-dressed chicken into one corner, and 
the half-peeled potatoes into anotlier; leave her bread burning 
in the oven, and with sleeves rolled to the elbow, grasp with\ 
frantic haste her shawl and bonnet,. and rush to the polls, to 
cast her vote for the next President ; that she may become a 
skilled workwoman, and an independent thinker. It is not 
necessary that fathers should rock the cradles, and darn the 
family stockings ; while the mothers heroically march to the 
ballot-bQx, to deposit their tickets; in order that woman’s in- 
tellect shall be so enlightened as to be able to solve the mys- 
teries of political economy. In your English homes, your per- 
manent family servants remove, in a large measure, the diffi- 
culties which confront the American housekeeper.” 

‘‘ Given to woman her home kingdom,” said Eulalie Ever- 
ard, as she deftly bordered her dressing-cover with fancy stitches 
in rose-colored silk. “ Let her rooms be furnished ever so 
artistically. Let her surroundings be elegant and refining; all 
that money can purchase, or taste suggest. There may be com- 
paratively but few homes of this kind, but we will suppose the 
rarities, that we may present the strongest pictures favoring 
home comfort. Well, given such a home in this nineteenth 
century. Does the machinery run like clockwork ? Is there 
no friction among any of the numerous wheels and gprings com- 
posing this wonderful institution, called home-life ? Where 
does the difficulty in our homes lie? Where shall we look for 
the cause which makes housekeeping a burden, and the provid- 
ing of home comforts, a weariness to the soul and body of 
woman ? We will not now look upon it from a monetary stand- 
point. We all know that money is necessary, and that lux- 
uries, and rich adornments, demand expense. Money is a power 
in securing richness and elegance ; but money cannot buy ideal 
homes, founded upon knowledge and courtesy, kindliness and 
culture. It will not matter to our present view of the question, 
whether the windows are draped with the daintiest of laces, 
and walls hung with the rarest of tapestries, and the furniture 
upholstered with the costliest of fabrics, or the rooms less ex- 
pensively adorned. Our question deals not so much with the 
decorating and furnishing of homes, as with the more important 
question of home comforts. We have all experienced the diffi-* 
culties of housekeeping.” 

“ We must discriminate between housekeeping and home- 
making,” observed Mrs, Ormandoff. Practical housekeeping 


88 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


is the foundittion for home-malcing ; but there is a wide differ- 
ence between them.’’ 

“ Why cannot housekeeping be made to run with the 
smoothness and exactness of mercantile enterprises?” said 
Eulalie.* ‘‘ Why cannot a woman be the head and superinten- 
dent ; lay plans which will be carried out ; give orders to serv- 
ants which shall be obeyed with exactness and despatch? 
Simply because an insurmountable difficulty stares every house- 
keeper in the face ; blockades her way ; upsets her best laid 
plans ; brings to naught her skill, her knowledge, her taste, her 
most unceasing supervision ! This stumbling-block in the way 
of much home comfort, is the ignorance, and untrained attempts 
and constant blunders of our unskilled domestics. It is not the 
^ enfants terrible^ but rather the servant-girls terrible, who 
bring to naught so many of our efforts for home comfort ; baffle 
our culture ; annul our highest aims for ideal homes.” 

“ America is not the only land where this obstacle confronts 
woman,” said Mrs. Ormandoff. ‘‘ It is not because the 
mothers are unskilled housekeepers ; but one pair of hands can 
no more perform all the labor in a household, than the man of 
business could himself superintend, and at the same time, per- 
sonally perform all tlie labor required in the different depart- 
ments of a large manufactory. We are not speaking of the 
humbler homes of our laboring classes. There, the mother 
can be cook, laundress, and housemaid ; and have more leisure 
too, than the head of our households ; where not only home 
life, and the education of children ; but social duties, benevo- 
lent enterprises, and personal culture ; all present their press- 
ing claims upon her time and attention. Neither do we in- 
clude a dilettant, sesthetical housekeeping; which inquires 
only, if her ^ potage a la reine^’ is served in priceless sevres ; 
and is not aware, that her ‘ potage a la reme^^ is old-fashioned 
chicken broth ; which her great gi’andmother ate from a pewter 
bowl, or common stoneware cup. The foundation of all true 
progress, is common-sense ; and common-sense leads us to ask 
tiie plain question: What can be done? Nothing, in a hurry; 
everything, in time. Mothers and housekeepers of the nine- 
teenth century, have got to meet the servant-girl question ; — 
grapple with it ; — and leave the women of the twentieth cen- 
tury to reap the benefits of their patient and persistent solving 
of the problem. Given us skilled labor, trained service, intelli- 
gent, responsible heads, for servants ; rather than ignorant, 
idle brains, and bungling, unskilled hands; and housekeeping 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 89 

would be a delight, and woman’s life would be lifted into a 
realm of quiet repose, where the greatest possible advancement 
in culture, for herself and family, could be accomplished with 
ease and efficiency.” 

Self-control, and repose, we are told, are two most import- 
ant elements of ideal culture,” remarked Aseneith, winding 
some pink wool required for her knitting. ‘‘ With this we 
would most emphatically and heartily agree. But imagine the 
woman who could display exquisite repose, and undisturbed 
elegance, in the midst of tlie exasperating carelessness of a 
heedless housemaid, who had just ruthlessly demolished, with 
awkwardly wielded duster, her most precious bit of bric-a-brac ; 
or some little production of her own talent, prized, not for its 
intrinsic value, but for the hours of patient labor which it rep- 
resented ! The costliest articles of frailest material are hand- 
led harmlessly, by the skilled hands in large establishments ; 
why not in our homes?” 

“ Or, how can a woman attain that quiet composure of brain 
and temper, which the pursuit of some deep science demands,” 
said Antoinette, looking up from her embroidery with fun 
dancing in her merry eyes, “ when our high-priced cook, who 
says she has cooked all her life, turns out incapable of baking, 
boiling, roasting, or stewing a single eatable article of food? 
Volumes could be filled with the recital of irritating blunders, 
which have tried the soul of woman, ruffled the temper of man, 
and brought confusion into the best regulated households, 
through the inveterate stupidity of its necessary subordinates.” 

‘‘ Only a bar of soap — 

Left on the stairs by the hired girl ; 

And the visitor glides with terrific whirl, 

Adown the jagged slope ! ” 

chanted Lucille, who was engaged in the laudable occupation 
of making useful iron-holders. 

Only a little party. 

Of important guests to dine ; 

And the flurried new waitress, tho’ drilled for a week ; 
Upsets the glass of wine, 

On the costly and elegant costume. 

Of the most particular guest ; — 

Then ask, if you can, that the hostess remain. 

In tranquil, undisturbed rest J 


90 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


Drill them w ith precept on precept, 

For three hundred and sixty-five days : — 

In the very first hour of the New Year ; 

They’re again at their blundering ways ! ” 

chimed Eulalie ; finishing her lace-frilled coyer, and commenc- 
ing to embroider some initials on damask towels. 

‘‘In business, money can hire the most skilled workman,” 
said Mrs. Ormandoff; “but in housekeeping, money can only 
palliate, it cannot eradicate, the evil. Old bachelors declare 
that children are the torments in a home. The children ; — 
bless their bright eyes, and sw^eet laughing faces 1 — are the 
very jewels of the home treasures. Woe be to the parents, 
who have inherently ugly-tempered children ! Unless a child 
inherits an ugly temper, what is called ill-nature, is only a 
tired stomach, or wearied nerves ; or perchance, too active a 
brain ; — not too active for the child’s advancement, but too 
active for the parent’s ignorance ; — and so, forsooth, the aspir- 
ing little learner is called a torment, when it is only seeking 
information.” 

“I agree with you, Mrs. Ormandoff,” said Aseneith, “that 
it is not the children in the household, who are the stumbling- 
blocks in the w^ay of ideal home comfort. And surely, in this 
sphere of life, in our enlightened age, it is not man who stands 
in woman’s w^ay. Man has been called her tyrant ; but w'e 
must truly do him the justice to say that in this province, he is 
as much the victim of discomforts as ourselves. He has this 
advantage, however, that he is not held responsible for those 
evils which are occasioned by no fault of the head, heart, or 
hands of the mother.” 

“ Untrained domestics are the cause of nine-tenths of the 
discomforts of modern homes,” resumed Mrs. Ormandoff, 
“ and are the greatest stumbling-blocks in the w^ay of woman’s 
intellectual advancement. It is not becoming a wdfe, or 
mother, that robs her of her rightful heritage of mental devel- 
opment. It is only because her time, and strength, and ener- 
gies are frittered away by a hopeless and untiring baffling of her 
plans, by ignorant dependents, whom she pays to do the work 
she has to do for them, if she w'ould make sure it w ere well 
done. Fortunately, this question lies wdthin the unquestioned 
sphere of w^oman ; and her brain must devise the remedy, and 
her skill and patience work it out. Women are not all fools, 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 9 1 

capable of comprehending but one thing at a time. They are 
not all weak-brained possessors of a single idea.’' 

Nor for the solving of this problem, must a woman become 
a pendantic fanatic ! ” declared Aseneith ; continuing 

Who can tell the great uncle of Moses, 

And the date of the War of the Roses, 

And the reason of things, why the Indians wore rings 
In their red, aboriginal noses ; 

Why Shakespeare was wrong in his grammar. 

And the meaning of Emerson’s ‘ Brahma,’ 

As she goes clipping rocks, with a little black box, 

And a small geological hammer.” 

Great progress in home comforts has already been made,’' 
said Antoinette. “ Witness modern luxuries, such as these 
dainty bits ! ” she continued, holding up the sheer morsel of 
fine linen, upon which she was so skilfully outlining the deli- 
cate blossoms. “ History tells us, that in the enlightened, in- 
tellectual age of Queen Elizabeth ; when Shakespeare, Spen- 
cer, Bacon, and Sir Philip Sidney, lived and wrote ; when Sir 
Walter Raleigh, and Lord Burleigh graced the royal table ; 
fingers were used instead of forks ; and the fair queen was 
greatly commended, for the graceful manner in which she dip- 
ped her dainty fingers into the dish, tossing the food into her 
royal mouth, and using with queenly elegance the highly priv- 
ileged napkin, which before the sixteenth century was not 
known, even to royalty.” 

“ Surely, we have advanced many steps in home comforts, 
and home elegance,” rejoined Mrs. Ormandoff, substituting a 
cheese-cloth duster for the finished kitchen-apron upon which 
she had been engaged, “in spite of all our defeats and hind- 
rances. Time, patience, and persistent forthputting in the 
right directions, are the remedies which are needed to over- 
come the chief difficulty in the way of ideal homes. Our con- 
clusions must be practical, not visionary. But surely, there is 
nothing visionary in skilled domestics knowing their business, 
and earning their wages. How shall that be accomplished ? 
Not by the mother and wife, turning herself into a drudge ; 
her muscle won’t solve the difficulty. Ideal housekeeping can- 
not be reached by her performing the work she pays her serv- 
ants to do. We can’t revolutionize the times; but each 


92 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


housekeeper and home-maker can add her efforts to the pro- 
gression of the age in the right direction.” 

“ How may women of the present day, labor to clear the 
way? ” asked Lucille, varying her employment by turning from 
iron-holders to doll-dressing. 

‘‘ First, by promoting every enterprise which shall encour- 
age skilled, trained labor;” replied Mrs. Ormandoff ; “not 
only in tlie trades and the arts, but in domestic departments ; 
such as kitchen-gardens, for the children of the laboring classes, 
who are to grow up into the servants of the next generation ; 
also training schools for domestic labor; where young girls 
shall be taught thoroughly all the departments of housework 
and cookery. Thus doing, the time will come, when no serv- 
ant will be hired without a diploma from some training- 
school ; and a girl will as much expect to fit herself for house- 
maid, or cook, as for dressmaker, or any trade.” 

“ In the ideal home of the future,” said Aseneith Allan, 
with kindling eye betokening her interest in the theme, “ I 
predict that useless and fanciful notions regarding table and 
home-furnishing, which go beyond simple elegance, and become 
the bizarre style of decoration which has turned so many ele- 
gant homes of modern times into Japanese curiosity shops ; 
will be superseded by refined, and permanent adornment ; and' 
home-life will be molded by practical ini'ormation ; the skilled 
superintendence of trained labor ; the quiet repose which fol- 
lows systematic economy of time ; and the vast intellectual ad- 
vancements which lie in the power of those who improve all 
possible opportunities, and wisely select those pursuits and 
pleasures best adapted for the fullest development of their in- 
dividual natures, and God-given talents.” 

“ In the possible ideal homes of the future,” remarked Mrs. 
Ormandoff, “ home comforts in housekeeping being insured by 
trained service, ideal home-making will not be a visionaiy 
aspiring, but a practical reality. Mothers can be skilled supei- 
intendents, overlooking with systematic care every department ; 
but leisure will be found for personal culture, because theii* 
physical energy will not be exhausted, nor their time frittered 
away in constant attention to ignorant and careless blunders of 
others. Children will be stronger in mind and body ; for 
mothers will not be so physically overtaxed. And as the 
mind of the mother is indelibly impressed upon the child when 
her life is freer, and her mental powers more highly de- 
veloped; children will be born with more inherited talent, and 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


93 


more strength of body and mind, to be molded by the greater 
enlightenment of a mother’s richer, broader, and more disci- 
plined nature.” 

‘‘ It seems to me,” said Aseneith, as her fair fingers flew in 
and out of the swift needles and pale pink wool — for Aseneitli 
was an adept at knitting, declaring that the faster her fingers 
worked, the clearer her thoughts were ; and laughingly say- 
ing that it was well her knitting could not reveal to the world 
the many fancies she had woven into the stitches, ; — ‘‘ it seems 
to me,” she continued, “ that mothers will find that the more 
they cultivate their own talents, the more will the talents of 
their children be cultivated. Children delight in imitating 
older persons. Whatever the mother does, the child wants to 
do ; and thus, much of the drudgery in learning music, art, or 
even literature, is unconsciously overcome by the child, who 
thinks she is only playing ; while in reality, she is studying, 
practising, or drawing, with the most persistent perseverance, 
in imitation of Mamma ; whereas, the same amount of labor, 
demanded from the child as a lesson, would be wearisome and 
irritating.” 

Experience most clearly proves that fact,” rejoined Mrs. 
Ormandoff. “ In future ideal homes, husbands will not find in 
their wives, beings clamoring for unwomanly occupations ; but 
rather, companions ; their equals in refined information ; their 
wise counselors in the practical questions of the day, and sym- 
pathizing advisers regarding their individual pursuits. Wo- 
man's keen-witted intuitions, and man’s careful deliberations, 
will go hand in hand. Home-life will be, more and more, a 
foretaste of Paradise; and the refining and elevating influences 
of Christian homes, will be felt to the uttermost limits of the 
globe.” 

Home elegance and comfort do not demand,” said Ase- 
neith, assuming a mock dramatic air, and rhetorical tone, 

That we be in a constant aesthetical maze, 

A so-called poetical mental craze ; 

And think we must do some some very big thing, — 

But the question is, when, and how to begin ? 

Though we must be aesthetic, whatever we do. 

From the crown of onr head, to t!ie sole of our shoe. 

What we like is not the least consequence now, 

We must like whatever the aesthetes billow. 


94 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


And if we are wilful enough to declare, 

That aesthetical taste is at fault anywhere ; 

That conventional art is a trifle severe, 

That all flowers don’t grow straight up in the air ; 

That suggestions of nature are not all we wish, 

When we ask for a painting on vase or on dish ; 

That brown worms, or black spiders, seem hardly the things 
To mix with one’s pudding, though with mere painted stings 

That we don’t like ice-cream from an Indian’s shoe ; — 
Though designed for the White House, and of fine china too 
That in many things made by the wonderful Japs, 

We only discover most comical traps; 

That we fail to admire square chairs, though Queen Anne’s; 
That we sometimes do weary of friezes of fans ; 

And though Grecian tunics display a fine arm ; 

We cannot discover their magical charm. 

As an everyday dress for the modern woman, 

Though all very well for Greek maiden, or Roman; 

For we have not yet reached that aesthetical state; 

When harp-playing alone wdll be fair woman’s fate. 

And we never must dare in this high-art time. 

To call the rank sunflower aught but' sublime. 

We must worship the lily, and frown on the rose. 

And adore the vain peacock in feathers or clothes. 

Though beef-tea is distasteful, it never would do 
To denounce the jesthetical ‘ bouillon,’ too; 

And we can’t be good cooks in tliese modern days, 

Unless we’re imbued with the cooking craze. 

And can glibly describe with a foreign air, 

And a flourish of French, our Yankee fare. 

And never be guilty of speaking so plain 

As to say chicken broth ; — but ‘ Potage a la Reine* 

<< Thus having provided French masks for our food, 

We could not be guilty of being so rude. 

So unrefined, and so unaesthetical. 

As not to serve these dainties poetical, 

On exactly the right kind of costly ware, 

And esteem an ignorance beyond compare. 

Should one fail to know, and to glibly say, 

All the names of the articles made from burnt clay. 


A MOl^AL WHERTTANCE, 


95 


“But woe to that one who would be iBsthetical, 

Who should fail to name the blue china poetical ! 

And should not know precisely the kind of rich ware, 

Of each cup, plaque, or vase, or frail saucer so rare. 

And when in dark houses we stumble and fall. 

Over rugs in the doorways, and rugs in the hall, 

And rugs in the parlors, and rugs at each chair ; 

Where rugs fail, we step on the skin of a bear ; 

“ Till panting and faint we drop on to a seat, 

’Twould be non-aesthetical such woes to repeat ; 

But rather oQr greeting to hostess should be, 

‘ My dear friend, what beautiful rugs here I see ! ’ 

And if we would grow to be ‘ utterly utter,’ 

And make in the world a continual flutter. 

We must mix with our language a trifle of sense. 

And quote from learned authors with bombastic pretence; 

“ Discuss evolution and rave of high art. 

And should ever words fail us, with hand on our heart 
And eyes raised to heaven in attitude strained, 

Behold ! the aesthetical climax is gained. 

What will poor antiquaries in future times do 

When the relics of our homes are brought to their view ; 

With here a Greek statue, and there a Jap fan ? 

O, where will they place the nineteenth century man?” 

“ What do you tjiink are the chief requisites in cultivating 
the art of entertaining acceptably, Mrs. Ormandoff ? ” asked 
Lucille Fielding, when the burst of laughter which greeted 
Aseneith’s poetical recitation had somewhat subsided ; “ for in 
these ideal homes of the future, it will be required to entertain 
well.” 

‘‘ An author says,” responded Mrs. Ormandoff, <‘^No good 
talker is obtrusive ; he is rather receptive, trying to get at 
other peoples’ obi^ervations. There are unsounded depths in a 
man’s nature, of which he himself knows nothing, till they are 
revealed to him by the plash and ripple of his own conversa- 
tion with other men.’ Applying this principle to the art of 
entertaining, leads us to the following conclusions : We 
should never pretend interest in that for which we have no 
love, or of which we have no knowledge. Persons who have 
no appreciation of music or art, only belittle themselves, and 


g6 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


baffle and weary their companions, who may be musicians or % 
artists, by tlieir ignorant pretence. 'We cannot assume to J 
know those things of which we are really ignorant ; for the J 
disguise is always too thin a mask to conceal our mental capa- | 
bilities. When conversing witli those who have more knowl- 
edge than ourselves upon the subject under discussion, we ] 
should never presume to know ; thus the law of polite man- ii 
ners would dictate that we should never allow our eyes to wan- ^ 
der over the dress of our companion, as though intent upon i 
the fashion thereof, nor aimlessly to cast our glances listlessly ; 
around the room, as though bored ; nor in a large gathering, ' ; 
listen to the conversation of those around us, instead of pay- ^ 
ing undivided and respectful attention to our particular com- ^ 
panion or partner. Not even the famous Coleridge himself, 
could converse with brilliancy or effect, in the presence of 
those who did not pay him the respect of responsive and in- 
telligent glances of recognition, admiration, or interest. Per- 
fect tact has the rare intuition of determining quickly and sensi- 
tively what subjects w^ould naturally interest perf;ons of certain 
pursuits, tastes, reputation, or social standing. If the persons ^ 
introduced to us have already made a reputation that places 
them above the general level, we should wait their choice of 
subjects ; thereby giving them the opportunity of showing 
courtesy, by politely acknowledging our literary qualifications 
by the drift of their conversation with us. Should it devolve 
upon us, however, to select the subject ; the most courteous 
tact would dictate that we allude to such incidents, or make 
such modest inquiries as should, delicately, and without fulsome 
flattery, refer to their acknowledged attainments, unusual suc- 
cess, or peculiar accomplishments. If we are ignorant of the 
particular branches in which they are proficient, we should 
compliment them by attentive listening, and refined and cul- 
tured questioning, denoting our desire for information. If our 
own tastes run in the same direction, we should modestly ex- 
press our ideas, if clear-cut and well-founded upon experience 
or close observation, or intelligent study. I would like to 
know. Miss Aseneith,’’ continued Mrs. Ormandoff; ‘‘ what are 
some of the peculiar social characteristics of your prominent 
American cities.” 

‘‘ Of the social reputation of our prominent cities, I have 
culled the following,” replied Aseneith, lifting a small silver- 
mounted ivory tablet, which w<^^ hung by delicate chains to 
her chatelaine. She read as follows : 


A MORAL UVJLERITANCR. 


97 


In Washington, where intellectual prominence, or what 
we Yankees call ‘ smartness,’ and what the English term 
‘ cleverness,’ prevails, the natural inquiry would be, ‘ What 
does he, or she, know ? Can he talk well ? What is he ? ’ 
In consequence, the society at Washington is quite unparal- 
leled in agreeability. If there is anything in a man, it comes 
out in Washington. It is the city of agreeable conversations ; 
it is the sphere of charming little dinners. No one can be 
local or narrow at Washington. It is to be feared that society 
is somewhat local and provincial in both of the aristocratic 
cities, Boston and Philadelphia. They know so well who 
they are themselves, that they expect you to know. 

“ In Boston, although the most intellectual of our cities, — 

‘ The Athens of America,’ the ‘ Hub of the Universe,’ — soci- 
ety is very local and condensed. They are very indifferent to 
outside influences, and the society, to a stranger, is frigid and 
cold ; but when once penetrated, it is delightful. No one must 
attempt, however, to storm it. It is a city on a hill which cannot 
be hid ; but it is well protected by the invincible reserve of its 
people, and one of its wits has said that a Boston man is 
‘ condensed east wind ; ’ — which is not a bad criticism. 

“ Philadelphia is far more open-handed and easy of access 
than Boston, for the old Quaker hospitality has been joined to 
a Southern warmth, and it has produced a jolly sort of hospi- 
tality. They feed one in Philadelphia as if they intended to 
make a pate de foie gras of you, and they are delightful hosts. 
But beware how you attempt to marry one of their daughters, 
unless you have sixteen quarterings and a grandfather. They 
are particular about a grandfather in Philadelphia. 

‘‘ Baltimore is a very hospitable, cosmopolitan city, and has 
the cavalier element widely prevalent in its still gay society. 
The memory of Lord Baltimore has given it somewhat of an 
English tone, but it is the best of all tones — there is nothing 
snobbish about it. 

“ New Orleans had great charms before the war — perhaps 
it has still. It is well placed for hospitality, and the old 
French population insures gayety and a freedom from false econ- 
omy, or what seems as such. 

“ Of course. New York is the ‘ Paris of America ’ — it is a 
French city, a German city, a Spanish city, an English city, 
and a Yankee city. No one can fathom Avhat its wonderful 
banyan-tree growth will be in a hundred years. It is now the 
greatest curiosity as to its abnormal condition in regard to 


98 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


etiquette. The sunshine and gladness of its climate, its thou- 
sand enchantments; its very quick, passionate pulse, its cosmo- 
politan character, all tend to distinguish New York as the very 
held for a polite society — for a perfect and sensible eti- 
quette.’’ 

“But Aseneith, dear,” said Antoinette, “you remember you 
promised to read for our entertainment, this afternoon, that 
little study of human nature, you wrote as an answer to Mr. 
Stockton’s story ‘The Lady, or the Tiger? ’ ” 

“ Of course I will keep my promise, if you wish to hear this 
little sketch of mine, and I would like to have your opinions 
regarding my analysis of human nature. I answer the ques- 
tion in two ways. My first princess is most contemptible ; but 
could I make her less so, when her governing motives were 
love, jealousy, and hate, in semi-barbaric times ; with a soul 
influenced only by heathen ideas, when gods and goddesses 
were represented as continually at warfare with each other ? ” 

Aseneith, thereupon, laid down her knitting, and taking up 
her note-book from a table near by, commenced as follows : 

You remember the famous story of “ The Lady, or the Ti- 
ger ? ” related by Mr. F. E. Stockton, the outline of which 
is as follows: A handsome knight, but one of lowly birth, had 
dared to love a princess, daughter of a semi-barbaric king. 
For this unheard-of and presumptuous crime, he was con- 
demned to undergo the terrible trial of meeting his fate in the 
“ King’s Arena,” before the assembled court and people. This 
fate was thus decided : As the accused person stepped into 
the arena, he perceived on the opposite side of the enclosure, 
two doors, precisely alike. If he opened one, a hungry tiger 
sprang out upon him, and tore him to pieces. If he opened 
the other door, a beautiful lady stepped forth, who immediately 
became his bride, as the marriage ceremony was then and there 
performed within the amphitheatre. If the tiger killed 
him, he was considered guilty. If the lady married him, 
he was declared innocent of the crime of which he was ac- 
cused. 

Now, this princess had, by means of the power of her lofty 
station, and by numerous bribes, found out the secret which 
even the king did not know ; namely, behind which door 
crouched the tiger, and which concealed the beautiful maiden, 
who might soon become a bride. 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


99 


The handsome knight had expected that his fair princess 
would find out this secret, as he well understood her resolute 
will and fond devotion. As he entered the arena, he glanced 
at her. She slightly moved her hand toward the right ; and 
without a moment^s hesitation, he walked to the door upon the 
right, and opened it. 

Which came forth? The Lady? or the Tiger? 

Let the Princess’ Stratagem answer if it can. 

Which would a woman choose in such extremity ? — to give 
her lover to a hated rival, and see another, the possessor of 
the joy and bliss for which she would barter even life itself? — 
or would she rather that his loved form should be torn to 
pieces by the terrible tiger, before her very eyes ? As we must 
decide the question, not from a modern standpoint, which 
might admit the noble grandeur of an ideal, self-sacrificing 
love ; but our decision must be in accordance with the nature 
of semi-savage times and nations ; — what would the princess 
do? Could not her woman’s wit, and queenly power, and 
bribes of gold, and promises of royal favor, contrive some 
stratagem ? 

Long days and nights the princess pondered upon this mo- 
mentous question. Life, or death ; love, or hopeless despair ; 
— hung in the balancing scales of destiny ! 

At first there seemed no hope. To the poor princess, it was 
apparently, only a choice between two most harrowing evils ; 
either of which, would doom her to a life of hopeless anguish. 
Either the tiger or the lady ? Both were equally torturing to 
her jealous, idolizing love. The thought of either, drove her 
to a wild frenzy of grief ; which rendered her for a time, in- 
capable of summoning her faculties to their intensest energies 
and keenest exercise ; which only could, perchance, avert her 
doom. Perchance! — was there any of that? She rous- 

ed herself from the hopeless lethargy ol* grief, which was last 
stealing over her. Instead of tears and groans, and hel[)less 
sighs, and tearing of her hair — she nerved herself to action. 

Ha ! — how the fire burns in her eyes ! The stars which shine 
in the midnight sky of that luxurious, lotus-perfumed land of 
the voluptuous Orient, were not more bright than her lustrous 
eyes, still sparkling through her recent tears, as the thought 
fiashes through her keen-witted woman’s brain, like lightning’s 
dart. 

Which power should she seek to conquer? Her father’s 
royal edict? — the savage nature of a hungry beast, thirsting 


100 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


for human blood? — the alluring enchantment of a rival beauty, , 
whose claims for admiration, were scarcely second to lier own? f 
— which of these should be the object against which her wo- 
manly intuitions, her keenest wit, her rarest subtleties of heart 
and mind, her semi-savage love and hate, should arm them- 
selves with irresistible force, and unconquerable will? 

Her father’s edict could not be revoked. Such thought were 
surely hopeless. He was a despotic monarch, Avhose word was 
absolute, as changeless as the laws of the Medes and Persians, i 
Once spoken, no earthly power could revoke it. Therefore, 
the edict must be carried out. Her stratagem must work be- ^ 
tween the tiger and the lady, or with both. Think not, fair 
reader, that she bribed the guards to have no tiger, or no lady ! 
The edict must be carried out, e’en to the very letter. Her 
lover must encounter the tiger or the lady. Which was more 
dreadful to her jealous hate? Which was most dangerous to 
her love and happiness ? 

She forced herself calmly to look both evils in the face. 
She saw the glaring eyes of the savage beast, burning red liot 
with hungry longing, fixed upon his helpless prey. Slie saw ^ 
her lover, — beautiful as some god-like Apollo, — standing de- 
fenceless before the terrible beast, just springing to clutch tliat 
beloved form, wdth unsheathed claws, and sharp and gleaming 
teeth. Oh, horrible ! Her brain seemed to whirl, and her 
heart to stand still for very terror, as her imagination pictured 
the leap, and savage embrace, and spurting life-blood of her 
adored-one. She shrieked, ‘‘ Oh, not this — not this ! ” But 
then — what then ? Could aught be more terribly anguishing 
than this ? 

Yes, even so. 

Again she saw her lover Standing in the arena. Again she 
noted his matchless l)eauty of manly perfections ; and again 
something approached him ; — Ha ! that rival, whom she hated ; 
whose very fairness made her hideous to her jealous heart ! 
With proudest triumph and queenly satisfaction, she advanced. 
Her lover sprang to meet the woman as the angel of deliver- 
ance. Gratitude lighted his peerless eyes, with that old bright- 
ness and blazing glory, whicdi she herself had often called 
forth from their beauteous depths by rapturous love. Oh, 
fiendish sight ! — Oh, horrors of Hades ! — No ! No ! No ! this 
must not be ! — should not be ! — but then the beast ! — Which 
evil should her woman’s wit first grapple with ? 

Scarcely had the dawn lifted the curtain of the night wdth 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


lOI 


rosy fingers, that the first rays of Osiris’s burning beams 
might light the eastern clouds with golden effulgence, ’ere the 
princess summoned her attendants, with wdld hot haste, and 
sent them hither and thither, in the working out of her most 
potent plan. 

“ Here, Iras, call the keeper of my father’s parks ! I fain 
would speak with him betimes. Send, too, the royal barber ; 
and the keeper of my treasure vaults, as well ; and forget not 
the guardian of my most resplendent jewels. Then bid my 
falconer bring hither his best trained bird; and forget not my 
dwarf and jester, Atmoo. Bring also my bravest hunter, and 
swiftest horse. And hasten ! Get thee gone ! For all must 
wait upon me at this hour. Momentous sequences hang upon 
the quick fulfilling of my royal will. — Well, Iras ! Who’s 
without ? ” 

‘‘The keeper of thy father’s parks, my lady 1 ” 

“’Tis well ! Bid him enter.” 

“ What wouldst thou, royal lady ? I have hastened liither 
at thy bidding. Wouldst thou some revels celebrate in yonder 
grove ? Or take a sail upon the lake ? ” 

“Hist man! Talk not to me of revels. Has my father 
chosen the savage beast who will decide the coming ghastly 
spectacle in yon arena ? ” 

“ Why ghastly, lady ? Such royal duel were brave to look 
upon ! Or else, perchance, it will turn out a wedding I Surely, 
nothing ghastly in that, with so handsome a cavalier, and fair 
a bride ! ” 

“ Be still, man ! Thy gossiping tongue is worse than old 
wives’ babble. See to it I I want none of thine opinions, only 
thy obedience. Where is the wild beast caged, that is selected 
for this bloody office ? ” 

“In the place allotted to the royal lions, my lady ! But 
never was a lion more savage than this wild tiger. Ha I his 
eyes are like coals of fire in his hungry head.” 

“ How long before a savage beast can be so well controlled 
by sumptuous food as to become harmless?” 

“ Never, completely, lady ! Just when you think liim tame 
and satisfied, some ugly freak will take him, and his savage 
thirst will prompt him to most foul and treacherous deeds. 
That is, w’hen old and wild, like this most terrible tiger, who 
never has been caged before this last successful hunt ; when he 
w^as taken in so smart a trap, which e’en his savage instinct 
failed to warn him of.” 


102 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


‘‘ I care not for a history of the hunt. How looks this 
beast? ’’ 

“ As like thine own pet tiger as if they were twin brothers, 
excepting the glaring of the eyes, and savage mien.” 

‘^Ha ! sayest thou so, good keeper ? ’Twill greatly simplify 
my plan. Are stripes and marks, and other features exactly 
similar ? ” 

“The 'very same, my lady ! ” 

“ Then listen ! Wouldst thou gain a purse of gold, and 
quick preferment?” 

“ Why so, my lady? None but a fool would, in troth, refuse"' 
good gold.” 

“ Then hear me, man ! and having heard, let my wise words 
sink so deep within thy mind, that neither breeze nor bird 
could catch an echo, which might be whispered in any mortal 
ear. The night before the day when the king, and court, and 
people shall assemble in the amphitheatre, to watch the com- 
ing doom of this last and most honorable prisoner ; do thou 
place my pet tiger in the cage of that wild beast, having first 
despatched the savage brute, wdth thy good and trusty sword, 
and with care removed all signs of such bloody work. Mind, 
man ! One hundred sestertias in silver, shall be thine that 
very night, if this, my royal will and pleasure, shall be 
obeyed.” 

“ I’ll do it, lady ! But what will that avail thy gallant 
knight ? Thy pet tiger knows but thy soft hand, and to all 
else is still most savage.” 

“ ’Tis w^ell, good Manthon ! My beast is royally trained, 
and will obey my teaching. — Well, Iras?” 

“ The keeper of thy treasures is wdthout, my lady ! ” 

“ Show him within ! ” 

“ Thy royal highness has sent for me ? ” 

“Yes, trusty Rhocco ! Bring hither three silken purses, 
containing each, one hundred silver sestertia. And more ! — 
One golden casket containing that rare bracelet, with an asp’s 
head wrought in diamonds, with the ruby eyes. Thou know- 
est it well. And hasten, for my patience is most urgent, and 
will abide no delaying.” 

“ I go, most royal highness ! ’Tis w'ell thy treasure-boxes 
and jewel-caskets are so fully furnished.” 

“ Stay, Rhocco ! I forgot the diamond necklace ; — I may 
have need of that to satisfy my beauty ! ” 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 103 

Thy beauty, noble mistress, needs no addition of sparkling 
gems, however costly.” 

‘‘ Ha, man ! I meant not that. But go in haste ! Here comes 
my royal hair-dresser. — Iras, wait without until I call thee ! 
Some little tricks of woman’s toilet, must needs be told in 
secret.” 

‘‘Ah, beauteous mistress ! Thou hast no need of any tricks. 
Thy beauty is beyond compare.” 

“ What ! am I fairer than Yudoxia, who is chosen by my 
father as the lady, in the coming contest with the tiger? 
What, thou liesitatest ? — Speak out, girl! — Am I not more 
fair than she ? ” 

“ She is indeed most beautiful, my princess I But thou art 
fairer than the moon, and stars, and lotus blossoms 1 But 
next thy royal highness, the lady Yudoxia is most fair.” 

“ Begone, thou silly girl ! Thy idle chatter doth provoke 
me. — (Ha! I will be avenged ! — Yudoxia beautiful ? — Would 
the viper seize my lover, and my royal place as beauty of this 
realm, as well ? — Begone upon her ! — J will avenge me ! Yes, 
both for lover, and for wounded pride ; and in spite of royal 
edicts, savage tigers, and hated rivals ; I will yet! — Well, we 
will see ! Not e’en these empty walls must hear a whisper of 
my stratagem!) — How now, good Rantho ! Thou art well 
come.” 

“ Wilt thou, most royal highness, try some new adorning 
of thy love-locks, or some new bloom upon thy damask 
cheek ? ” 

“ ’Tis not for adorning, good Rantho, that I have sent for 
thee ; but father for the most potent trick for the disfigurement 
of too vain beauty.” 

“ What ho ! My lovely mistress could not be too vain of 
her sweet looks ! ” 

“ Ha, man, be still ! My beauty is not here nor there. 
’Tis another’s face I would bedeck with such rare beauty patch, 
as should in truth make demons to shudder, and a siren of 
Hades to grow pale with envy. In short, I have bethought 
me what would most mar this vaunted beauty. Make me a 
mole ! — a black and hideous mole ! Not too august in size, as 
it would fright my lady, and look too huge for even sparkling 
diamonds to persuade to don it. But oh, a hideous mole ! — 
with long, and coarse, and ugly hairs growing from its dusky 
depths, like crawling caterpillar, or squirming spider. This 
mole must be placed upon the chin, just well beneath the rosy 


104 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


lips ; e’en quite caressing their arched and well-curved ends. 
Methinks, it would not be a rapturous Cupid’s bow, in truth, 
when thus adorned. Nor would they look like luscious 
cherries, ripe for kissing ! I fear not for the eyes. Methinks 
they would not look alluring, with such sweet tempting lips to 
kiss. Just spoil for me her mouth. I’ll risk the spell of 
other features. And as for her fair form, I still do know a 
trick or two, to grace her sylph-like person. Make me this 
mole ; and list ! When I shall send thee on a certain day at 
dawn, to this my lady fair, to deck her for coming nuptials ; 
when thou hast well arranged her hair, and taken away her 
mirror ; see to it tliat thou clappest on this beautifying mole, 
as I have ordered. And if thou dost perform this office with- 
out failure, I have a purse for thee; well filled with silver, e’en 
four hundred shining denarii. And hold, good Kantho ! one 
other word. Thou sbalt an-ange her liair in some outlandish 
manner, most unbecoming. And should she rebel at that, say, 
‘ This is the latest style at Eastern courts, and the princess her- 
self has planned to set the fashion, in which thou canst forestall 
her.’ And then, moreover, be very sure that some hairs are 
drawn so tightly, as to cause a teasing headache ; while some 
unlucky hairpin, be so slyly nestled in her braids and coils, 
that it may pierce her head with irritating prick ; but so con- 
ceal it that the occasion of the mischief be not found.” 

‘‘’Tis well, most royal lady ! My loyal duty and most hum- 
ble obeisance to thy highness’ will, can but make me serve 
thee faithfully indeed. Fear not! I will contrive so cunning 
a patch of beauty, as no witch could yet achieve.” 

“ Iras ! come girl, attend me ! Go, good Eantho, and pre- 
pare that new cosmetic I just have told thee of. — Now, Iras, 
call to me the lady of my robes ! I would, forsooth, have a 
bride’s attire arranged, which I will present as royal gift to 
fair Yudoxia.” 

‘‘Here cometh Mistress Othmoo, already, royal lady! ” 

“ Go, Iras, and behold if my good hunter and falconer, are 
on their way thither.” 

“ Well, gentle lady, can I serve thee, in aught pertaining to 
my art or office ? ” 

“Yes, Mistress Othmoo! In truth, I wish thy kindliest 
service. See to it ! I would present a bridal robe to fair 
Yudoxia, as a royal gift, in case the ceremony sliould chance 
to her, in the coming contest with the tiger. See to it ! A 
costly robe, and beautiful. I spare no price. But hear me I 


los 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 

‘I must whisper in your ear, unknown to any. Pad one shoulder 
much higher tharr the other ; and give to one slight hip a 
seeming fullness, not the other. Be sure the arms and neck 
are well covered with some material thicker than gauze, which 
will conceal all charms of curvin«: roundness, and swelling: bust. 
Of course, *tis meet she should be covered in public. But 
hark ye ! This order is not for my new robe of silver tissue. 
’Tis meet, also, that all royal charms should be admired. 
Next, manage, when you dress the lady ; — as by my royal 
pleasure, and magnanimous condescension, of seeming aid, you 
shall in truth accomplish ; — so place some nettling pin, or quite 
forgotten needle-point, in some safe place within her encircling 
bodice, which shall continually scratch her tender flesh ; and 
yet be so well placed, that no arm of hers can reach tlie 
offending point, to ease the irritating prick. Methinks, no 
other caution need be taken, to insure a lovely and becoming 
expression of countenance, and air of pleasing temper. But 
more! Provide her sandals, matching the robe; but full two 
sizes smaller than her foot, which measures the same as mine. 
And as thou dost pinch her feet to get them on, remark, ‘ The 
princess said thou hadst such dainty feet, these needs must fit 
thee, which are exactly similar in size to those her royal high- 
ness wears.' Mark me, good Mistress Othmoo, when she 
hears that, no force could pull them off her feet, e'en though 
her misery in wearing them, should cause her to swoon for very 
pain and agony. Tight, pinching sandals, give such a graceful 
Style, and air of dignified carriage to a woman ! And one 
thing more I When thou dost place the wreath of lotus blos- 
soms on her brow, be sure the falling bud in front do have 
unusual length of stem, and that it shall so lie upon her fore- 
head as to mar all outlines of beauty, and make her bridal 
wreath a disfigurement, instead of ornament. And so thou 
doest thy duties well, and showest thyself an adept in the art 
of pleasing me ; — that costly robe, thou hast so often admired, 
and those gay jewels which caught thy fancy, shall all be thine. 
But here comes my falconer.” 

“ Yes, gentle lady, I obey thy summons.” 

'Tis good, my honest man ! Hast thou a well-trained bird 
to do thy bidding ? ” 

“ Yes, verily 1 a bird most aptly trained.” 

’Tis well ! Take here this little note. Tie it fiimly to 
the bird’s neck. And when thou canst perform it unperceived, 
make thy bird fly to the window of the room in yonder prison, 


Io6 A MORAL INHERITAA^CE. 

where the brave knight is confined. When that note is in his 
hands, look thou ! ten golden ducats shall be thine. Canst 
do it ? 

“ Yes, my lady ! Nothing is impossible which thou com- 
mandest.” 

“ Well, get thee gone, to make selection of thy worthiest 
bird ! — Ha ! What most trusty servants ! — most faithful, 
worthy, obedient slaves ! — gold, jewels, and promises of office 
can iiivsure ! How powerful my royal wishes have become! 
How potent, indeed, when accompanied with a purse of gold I 
But here comes my hunter on my swiftest horse, as I com- 
manded. (//e alights and enters,) 

‘‘ Well, now, good hunter ! ” 

Would my lady try the chase ? ” 

Not I, good Mastro I But I would that thou shouldst 
hunt for me. Take my swift horse, that thou shouldst not be 
hindered. Scour the country, and procure such game as is 
most toothsome to my pet tiger? I have a little play to give 
with him in public. See to it ! He must be well fed ; — most 
overfed ! e’en royally provided ; for hungry beasts, though 
tame, are treacherous. Make him so satiated with his favorite 
food, that the most tempting morsel could not persuade him to 
another mouthful. And see ! take this purse of silver, and be 
gone to do my bidding — Ah ! Here comes Atmoo, my dwarf 
and jester I 

Yes, royal mistress ! Shall I dance for thee, or jest, or 
weep, or take a flogging ? All is the same, so it is thy sweet 
will.” 

Well, faithful Atmoo ! Rememberest thou our tiger play ? 
— the whistle, and goad, and when to do them both? ” 

Yes, truly, lovely lady I I never failed in giving the right 
signal. It would be dangerous indeed, with such a treacherous 
beast.” 

“ Then hear me, Atmoo ! In the coming contest, my pet 
tiger will crouch behind the Avell-closed door ” 

‘‘ Ha, mistress ! Thy wit will save thy lover ! ” 

Hist, boy! Tliat will depend on thee. Hide thou behind 
the door ; and as the tiger springs, give thou the whistle sig- 
nal, wliich will tame him at the instant. The goad thou wilt 
reserve until I give command. Away ! — Go, see that my pet 
tiger is most royally trained. And if thou doest well thy part, 
ask what thou wilt — it shall be granted.” 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, I07 

“ So it please thee, lady ! I ask nothing dearer than thy 
royal favor.” 

“Poor slave! He only, of all my retinue, serves me for 
love ; and on him rest my greatest hopes of victory ! ’Tis that 
mis-shapen, half-witted creature, who by his faithful love, per- 
(diance, can save me. — Ah ! love works magic, after all ! — 
Come hither, Iras I Call my women. Bid them twine the lotus 
chaplets. Tell them to make one, of the pale white lotus 
flowers, and to seek thosemot well opened; so that the wreath 
will seem somewhat scanty, and insignificant. This shall 
Yudoxia wear. But list, thou I Bid them seek the sacred 
lotus for my chaplet. The royal and radiant Nelumbo ! — > 
whose .crimson bells seem burning with living heart’s blood, 
and whose fragrance perfumes the air like love’s incense. Bid 
them also weave a garland of the same, and deck the golden 
canopy which hangs above my royal seat in yon amphitheatre. 
And see, thou, that a burning blossom fastens my mantle of 
gold tissue, and that my robe of silver gauze is well bedecked 
with the same sacred flowers ; and that my most priceless jew- 
els are in order for my wearing. Time presses. The celebra- 
tion is near at hand. I shall betake me to my chamber until 
all things are ready.” 

The trumpets sound. The king and princess sit beneath a 
canopy of gold, in royal state. The people have assembled in 
vast numbers, to behold the coming contest. The fate of the 
princess’ lover is no common show. The heralds read the edict 
of the king. A trumpet’s bldst is heard. The knight steps 
forth into tbe arena. Every eye is fixed upon that valiant 
form, and handsome face. He turns as if to salute the king, 
and bowing, looks only at the princess. She moves her hand, 
just slightly to the right. The knight, with one burning 
glance into her eyes which seems to read her very soul, turns 
quickly, walks firmly, and opens the door upon the right. 
Out springs the tiger, with glaring eyes, and unsheathed claws. 

“ Perfidious woman 1 ” murmurs the knight, transfixed with 
horror. “ Her note said ‘ Trust me! and obey implicitly my 
signals.’ She surely pointed to the right ! Would she betray 
me to those savage claws, rather than resign me to some beau- 
tiful woman who, though not my own choice, would be more 
welcome than this hot embrace of savage beast ! ” 

“ Oh, horrors ! ” whispered the princess, pale as death, with 


io8 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


fright. Has that dwarf duped me ? Did I not tell him, no 
goad until 1 bade ? Is there no whistle ? — Hark ! ’’ 

But see ! The tiger springing through the air, alights, and 
crouches at the feet of the brave knight. 

Gh, matchless princess ! ’’ exclaims the knight. 

‘‘Oh, miracle!’’ exclaims the king. “Was ever such 
mighty magic wrought by man before ? The knight must be a 
wizard ! — a most marvelous and wondrous magician in dis- 
guise I — Say, ho ! brave knight 1 Either thou art most inno- 
cent I — so very innocent, that thy pure and spotless innocence 
has cowed the very fierceness of a hungry beast ; — or thou art, 
indeed, so very guilty ; — so blackly, darkly guilty, with such 
hideous crimes, that e’en the savage brute bows down to thee 
in reverence, as to his master and sovereign in the realms of 
bloody necromancy, and regions of foul deeds ! Say, princess, 
thinkest thou there was some cheat about the savageness of 
that same beast ? ” 

“ My most royal father ! Didst thou not perceive his glar- 
ing eyes, and unsheathed claws, wdien first he sprang? ' Surely, 
none but a hungry, savage beast, would thus have looked ! ” 

“ ’Tis true, my daughter 1 The witchcraft must be in the 
magic of the knight I ” 

{Princess aside.) ‘lOh, wise, and faithful dwarf! Thy well 
aimed goad didst aid thy crafty cunning, where my woman’s 
wit had else sure failed ! ” 

“ Answer, brave knight ! ” exclaimed the king. “ Since 
thou hast tamed my savage beast, art thou innocent or guilty ? 
My royal justice has been foiled in this, and left me powerless 
to decide the matter.” 

“ Most mighty king and royal master ! I am both innocent 
and guilty. Innocent of any trace of evil design or wicked 
deed. But guilty ! — yes, most deeply, proudly guilty, of that 
thou callest a crime ; but what I liold my highest honor 1 ” 

“ Well said, brave knight ! Thy mettle is most stanch, if 
thy blood be not over gentle. But say, good ministers of 
state, I find myself in a great perplexity. My royal edict 
declares, that bloody fight, or marriage ceremony must be per- 
formed within this amphitheatre. The knight has conquered 
my tiger, though not in blood. My law allows no second 
choice to take the lady also. Indeed, I’m in quite an amaz- 
ing muddle, between law fulfilled and present opportunity ! ” 

“Most loved and reverenced father!” said the princess. 
“ Behold me, thy most obedient and loyal daughter ! I give 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


109 


myself, rather than that thy august and righteous law sould be 
ignored. Behold, I, myself, will wed yonder brave knight ; 
even now, in this very arena, before thy royal self, and these 
good people, as my witnesses, that thus thy edicts must be car- 
ried out, e’en to the very letter. Since thy beast has failed 
thee, I will myself fulfill thy law ! ” 

“ Well said, fair daughter ! Thy woman’s wit is sometimes 
useful in sore straits. The knight is, forsooth, most good, and 
brave, and handsome, and lacks only in his birth. But royal 
power can mend e’en so great a fault as that. Come hither 
knight ! I make thee high and mighty chancellor of this 
realm, and my prime minister of state ; which lofty offices give 
to thee the rank of prince. Most valiant prince, behold thy 
princess ! — What ho ! Heralds ! Call the priest, and wedding 
bands of maidens, and musicians. But list, my daughter 1 
One thing I command. Since yon fair lady, behind the yet 
closed door, hath been bereft of bridegroom ; see to it, that she 
take the place of thy first maid of honor in the wedding 
ceremony.” 

Most gracious father ! Thy royal swill is my best pleas- 
ure ! ” 

(^Princess aside.) ‘‘ Naught could have so well pleased me. 
My hated rival shall behold my glorious triumph. But there 
she cometh, limping and hobbling on those aching feet. Poor 
lady ! In truth, I did not seek to make her quite so ugly ! 
But oh, that mole ! It was a pretty trick indeed ! Most 
tempting lips, in truth ! But that rare bracelet which sparkles 
on her arm, will lighten her present woe. Indeed, I wish me 
joy, I did not have to send this glistening necklace also, to 
bind the bargain fast. My beauty would have been somewhat 
less bright, by loss of these rare, glistening stonefe. For even 
beauty is enhanced by costly jewels ; though they are power- 
less to make an ugly woman fair.” 

Just then the handsome knight bowed low, and whispered in 
her ear : ‘‘ Oh, lovely princess, from what an awful fate has 

thy love rescued me ! Why, even tlie hot embrace of a savage 
beast were more to be desired, than to have to place a kiss on 
the revolting, disfigured lips of yonder lady. I thought I 
recognized her height ; but such unshapely form, and hideous 
mole, my eyes ne’er gazed upon before. But thou, my radiant 
princess, art more fair than moon, or stars, or lotus blossoms ; 
— even than the goddess Isis, herself! But list I The music 
plays our wedding march ! The priest advances.” 


no 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


What think you of tlie princess’ stratagem ? Think you, 1 
have far overstated the nature of a loving, jealous woman in 
those barbaric times, when love was strong, and hate was sav- 
age? Of course, no trace of any such fierce love and hate is 
usually displayed by more modern beauties, or in a century not 
quite so much commingled wdth the past. A modern princess, 
would no doubt resign her lover to a rival, with patient resig- 
nation ; and think, perchance, she showed a noble love in such 
renunciation. And as to trusting to a tiger, rather than a 
rival beauty ; — Ah well ! — the times are different. 

Fair reader ! What would a princess in these more modern 
and more moderate times, now choose to do? Would she resign 
her lover to a rival? — or would she tame the tiger? 

As Aseneith ceased reading, Antoinette exclaimed : ‘‘ I 

think some trace of that same jealousy might possibly be found 
in modern beauties.” 

The princess is most contemptible, and petty-minded, ’tis 
true,” said Aseneith ; “ but given only love, and jealousy, and 
hate, and heathen souls, and savage times, and could one pic- 
ture aught but such a woman ? But there is yet another answer 
to this knotty question, which in its stating will present to us 
a different phase of human nature,” continued Aseneith, taking 
up her note-book once more. “ This may be called the Prin- 
cess’ Sacrifice.” 

We must go back to that dread night, when the princess 
nerved herself to look both evils squarely in the face. In the 
midst of her wild anguish, a thought flashed through her mind, 
and a resolve. Ere yet the dawn was breaking, she called her 
faithful Iras, and together they repaired to the temple of Isis, 
goddess of the Moon, and of the Dawn. 

As our princess was a heathen, we must find only such con- 
solation for her heart, and inspiration for her action, as would 
be consistent with such a supposition. Christianity would not 
have placed before her such alternative ; or if that could be 
possible to suppose, Christianity would have given her the liglit 
to solve the seeming contradiction. But as a heathen, how true 
could be her woman’s love? How much could the supersti- 
tions of her religion aid her ? Thank God ! Even in the dark- 
est ages of past history, there has always been a tiny thread of 
golden trutli, even in the midst of heathen superstitions, which 
would help an aspiring soul to reach out a little beyond its own 


A MORAL inheritance. 


Hi 


selfish, darkened nature. So has an overruling Providence 
decreed. Each nation has retainecPsc^me vital spark of truth, 
even though pale and flickering, down flirough all the black 
darkness which followed man’s departure from original inno- 
cence. Will the poor princess find this golden thread of trutli, 
to guide her through this dark bewildering labyrinth of sorrow ? 
History affords us examples, even amongst barbaric and heal hen 
nations of the past, of woman’s devoted constancy, and 
power of self-sacrificing love. Not only do we find a Cleo- 
patra in the annals of the past, with all her wild fierce love, and 
hatred, and savage nature ; but we meet an Octavia, as well, 
e’en in the midst of Roman paganism. 

The princess and her attendant, having entered the temple 
sacred to their most exalted goddess, perceived the vestal fire 
burning upon the altar ; and kneeling near, in patient devotion, 
the most holy of her priestesses. The princess quickly bowed 
before her, and cried : 

“ Oh, holy priestess of the great Isis, Goddess of Light and 
Love ! Pray hear my sorrow and deign to aid me ! ” 

‘‘ What wilt thou, daughter ? ” said the priestess. 

Most holy Vestal Virgin ! Thou hast doubtless heard my 
pitiful story. My lover languishes in yonder prison ; and to- 
morrow is the terrible celebration in the arena, with its awful 
tiger, and hardly less awful lady, behind those dreadful and 
portentous doors. I must decide his fate. I know the secret 
of those well-closed doors. Oh, help me ! Counsel me ! What 
shall I do ? The thought of the terrible claws of that savage 
tiger, drive me to wild frenzy. But oh, how can I resign him 
to another ! The thought of that drives me to distraction. Oh, 
help me, holy priestess ! What can a loving woman do in such 
extremity ? ” 

“ My daughter ! What is right ? — is first the question ; and 
what is most unselfish, and which would be the truer test of 
high and holy love ? Maidens before have sacrificed them- 
selves for love, and pure devotion, to the worship of our most 
holy and revered great Goddess.” 

‘‘ But, priestess, in a strait like this, "which would be love ? 
To give him to death ? — or to another ? — Both seem to me so 
very far from woman’s truest love ! ” 

“ My daughter, thinkest thou 'present joy is the only bless- 
edness ? Discipline may be needed, to bring the surer bliss 
hereafter.” 


A MORAL INHERITAA^CE. 


112 

‘‘ Oh, priestess ! Didst thou ever love ? Methinks thy 
heart must be of stonej ” 

‘‘ Beware, daughter ! Seek not to disturb the ashes of the 
dead ! I have both loved and lost. But, princess, a woman 
sometimes finds her noblest joy in self-renunciation. What 
wouldst thou wish thy lover to decide in thy place ? ’’ 

Oh, priestess ! holy virgin ! Could he give me to another, 
and still love me most truly, most entirely ? And yet! — could 
his tender love commit me to the claws of yonder savage 
beast ? Oh, most bewildering question ! ” 

“ What wouldst thou do in his place, daughter?’’ 

‘‘ Oh, without a moment’s hesitation, I would gladly meet 
the terrible tiger, and my death, rather than that I should 
wrong him even in seeming, by accepting my life apart from 
him ! ” 

Ah, princess, perchance a knight might love as truly ! 
But, daughter, offer most earnest prayers to Isis I Seek thou 
thy chamber, and there worship her in solitude. Let the 
overruling Powers of Good, speak to thy doubting heart, and 
show thee what to do. Remember the marvelous story of the 
good Lord Shaka, his sacrifice and reward I ” 

I think I do not know it, priestess.” 

‘‘ This is the legend, daughter : 

“ The merciful Lord Shaka had concluded his meditations 
on the mountain of Dan-doku, and was descending the rocky 
path on his way toward the city. Night was approaching, the 
shadows were deepening, and no sound disturbed the stillness 
of the hour. As he reached a plateau at the crest of the last 
turn in the road, he heard some one exclaim in a loud voice : 

‘ Shio-giyo-mu-jiyo ! ’ The Lord Shaka was amazed and de- 
lighted, thinking, ‘ What manner of being is this ? I must 
question him and learn more.’ 

He then approached the edge of the precipice, still hear- 
ing the voice repeating the wonderful sentence. On glancing 
down into the valley he beheld a horrible dragon, which re- 
garded him threateningly. The Lord Shaka seated himself 
upon the edge of the rock, and addressing the monster, said : 

“ ‘ How came you to learn one of the highest mysteries of 
Buddha? Although I have been studying ten years, I have 
never heard this sentence.’ 

“ The meaning of the dragon’s words, just spoken, have 
been thus interpreted : ‘ Man is naturally disposed to sin, and 
if he were left without teaching, would descend to the lowest 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


I13 

depths of degradation/ The Lord Shaka came into the world 
to teach humility, gentleness, forbearance, and patience. Those 
who listen to his words will gradually lose their natural dispo- 
sition to sin, and approach one step nearer to the Golden 
Lotus. 

Then Lord Shaka said to the dragon : ‘ I think thou must 
know other truths Please tell them to me.’ 

The dragon coiled itself tightly round the base of the 
rock, and said in thunderous tones: ‘All living things are 
antagonistic to the law of Buddha.’ Then it held its peace for 
a space, whereupon the Lord Shaka said : 

“ ‘ That is very good ; now pray tell me the next sentence.’ 

“ ‘ All living things must die,’ answered the dragon. 

“ ‘ That sentence is better than the last,’ said the Lord 
Shaka ; ‘ I would very much like to hear the next.’ 

“ The dragon, looking upon him with a hungry expression, 
replied : ‘ The next truth is the last and most precious, but I 
cannot speak it until my hunger is appeased.’ 

“ ‘ I will give thee anything thou dost wish,^ answered the 
Lord Shaka. ‘ What dost thou demand ? ’ 

“ ‘ Human flesh ! ’ was the response. 

“ The Lord Shaka regarded the dragon pityingly, and said : 
‘ My religion forbids me to destroy life ; but as I must, for the 
sake of the people, hear the final sentence, I will give myself 
to thee. Now tell me that great truth.’ 

“ The monster opened its enormous mouth, saying : ‘ The 
greatest happiness is experienced after the soul has left the 
body.’ 

“ The Lord Shaka listened, then bowed his sacred head, and 
sprang into the gaping mouth of the dragon. When he 
touched the monster’s jaws, they split into eight parts, and 
changed into the eight petals of the Golden Lotus.” 

“ My daughter, self-sacrifice is the best happiness ! Fare- 
well ! Mayest thou obtain the Golden Lotus of immortal 
love ! ” 

Back to her chamber went the sorrowful princess. Long 
she knelt in silent devotion.. At last she murmured ; “ If he 

truly loves me, he will never forget me, even though the cruel 
edict weds him to another ! If I truly love him, I will thus 
trust his deep devotion ! — Help me, Isis ! Goddess of Light 
and Love ! ” and she fell fainting to the. floor. 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


114 

The hour had arrived. The king and court and people were 
assembled in the amphitheatre. Pale, and half-fainting, the 
lovely princess was carried to her seat, and there supported in 
the arms of her faithful Iras. When urged to remain away, 
she had answered : 

His fate hangs on me ! ” 

The trumpet sounded. The knight came forth. He gave 
one glance toward the pale princess, and the light of love 
blazed in his eyes. He knew what had been her struggle ! He 
knew what had been her decision. How ? By the subtle in- 
stincts of perfect love. He read his own heart, and by that 
he read hers also. The princess looked upon him with an ex- 
pression of angelic love, and pointing to the right, she swoon- 
ed away. 

The knight’s face fairly shone with rapturous joy, as he 
turned and walked quickly, and opened the door upon the left. 
Out sprang the raging tiger, with a yell of savage fury ; and 
clutched that beautiful form, and tore it with teeth and claws. 
One moment of wild horror, and all was over. 

They carried the unconscious princess to her chamber. She 
lay upon her bed like one already dead. For long, sad hours, 
they thought her life had also passed away. 

It was again the hour of midnight. She opened, at last, 
her lovely eyes, and saw her faithful Iras. 

‘‘ Tell — me — ” whispered the princess, with faint breath, 
‘‘ what happened ? ” 

The knight is dead, my lady ! And he left this letter 
with his trusty servant, to be given to thee.” 

‘‘Dead ? ” cried the princess. “ Was he not wed ? ” 

“ No, my lady ! The tiger killed him ! ” 

“ Oh, horrors, girl ! Did I not point to the right? ” 

“Yes, lovely princess, and then thou didst faint away ; and 
the knight looked at thee, with oh ! — such a look of love ! — and 
then walked quickly to the left, and opened the door for the 
terrible tiger ! I know he meant to do it, lady, for his looks 
said he would die for thee ! 

“ Leave me, girl! I would read my letter alone.” 

First pressing the letter to her lips, the princess read these 
words : 

“Oh, most adorable princess ! — My Heart’s Idol! I know thy 
loving, tender heart ! I know thy struggles ! Sweetest, dearest 


A MORAL INHERITANCE 


ns 

Lady ! Beloved Heart ! More dear than life ! I know thy 
blessed hand will point me to life ! — But life without thee, were 
worse than any death, however terrible ! Sweet Love ! remember ! 
— I choose the tiger ! — and with rapturous joy I die for love of tliee ; 
blessed beyond compare, to be so honored. Farewell, my glorious 
Love ! In the Gardens of the Blessed, I await thy coming. — Immor- 
tal love, is better than earthly life ! 

And wlien Iras came back to minister to her mistress, she 
found the princess dead upon her bed, with a smile of rapture 
on her face, and the loved letter pressed against her heart. She 
had received the Golden Lotus of immortal love. 

And now, fair reader, which think you is more true to na- 
ture ; the Princess’ Stratagem ? — or the Princess’ Sacrifice ? — 
And would a true knight, and loyal lover — choose the tiger f 

‘‘ But, Aseneith, you leave the question still undecided ! ” 
said Antoinette, as Aseneith finished the sketch. 

‘‘ Yes, that is true,” replied Aseneith ; “for this question 
hangs upon human nature, and the question must be decided by 
each according to his estimate of the motive governing action, 
given such a set of circumstances, occasioned by the time, 
country, and enlightenment of mankind at such an epoch of 
the world. A heathen, semi-barbaric princess must be judged, 
not by our standpoints of character, but by the environments 
surrounding her.” 

“ I do not think you have overdrawn either princess,” said 
Mrs. Ormandoif. “ It seems to me they are both very true to 
the life. Of course, the Princess’ Sacrifice appeals to our 
higher natures ; but love, jealousy, and hate, working in a soul 
uninfluenced by Christianity, would result in just such a con- 
temptible character as the first princess, and even modern times 
can furnish types as petty if not so cruel.” 

As Aseneith laid down her note-book, to resume her knit- 
ting, Antoinette took up the little red volume, and was turn- 
ing over the leaves with much curiosity, when she happened 
upon a droll sketch Aseneith had made of a Yankee spinster. 
Casting her eyes over a few paragraphs, she laughed aloud, 
and exclaimed : “ Oh, Aseneith dear, you must read us this 
short sketch ; this Yankee spinster seems to hit so patly many 
fashionable foibles of the day ! ” 

“ Yes, she was a quaint specimen of keen Yankee shrewd- 
ness,” said Aseneith, taking the book. “ I met her one sum- 
mer in New England, and her words were so homely, and yet 
so expressive, while her observations were so amusing, that I 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


Ii6 

made note of them. And as they fit in with some of the 
thoughts we have expressed, though given in tliis quaint fash- 
ion, I will read them, as I observe several articles remain to 
be finished for our fair. I visited this old maid, one afternoon, 
when I was stopping in her neighborhood, and found her knit- 
ting, on her front porch. She had never left the old home- 
stead where she was born — and which she had inherited from 
her father, a simple old farmer — except on one occasion, when 
she went to New York city to visit her brother Jonathan ; he 
having left this small farm, to go to the city to shift for himself, 
where he had succeeded in amassing a large fortune, through 
speculations in railroads. The city family belong to that class 
called shoddy.^ who ape the appearance of those long accus- 
tomed to wealth ; but whose lack of culture and refinement, 
can be easily detected by coarseness of voice, or grammatical 
errors, or loudness of taste in dress and surroundings ; who 
have no true knowledge of art or music, but ape sesthetical 
tastes ; and so when they travel abroad, they buy up the high 
colored daubs of unknown artists, which are palmed upon 
them as Old Masters, The daughters of the family screech, 
in shrill, nasal tones, the airs from some of the operas ; while 
the sons catch the slang of the titled young snobs, whom they 
have overhead in Hyde Park, and repeat it at home as the 
words of Lord this — or Earl that — until their fond friends 
imagine they were favored with the most intimate acquaintance 
with their lordships. But their plain Aunt Maria Jane, though 
possessed of no culture herself, has some good common-sense^ 
which in their case has been exchanged for false notions; and 
in her quaint homely fashion, in narrating to me her experi- 
ence of this memorable visit, she stated such shrewd observa- 
tions in such a forceful way, that I quote her own language, 
and give you her homespun philosophies. She said to me : 

“‘So you would like to know about my visit to brother 
Jonathan’s, Miss Allan ? Well, the truth is, I am so jumbled 
up, in my idees, between the new fangled fashions, and the 
old traps come to light, dressed up in all sorts of unpronounce- 
able French names, that I jist don’t know where 1 am. What 
with this pushin’ and crammin’of idees, and notions, and sich 
like, into folks’ heads, if most on ’em ain’t left at last a mass 
of useless freaks and fancies, it won’t be the fault of the times, 
at any rate. But 1 didn’t mean to go moralizin’ about the 
times.- I ain’t given to [ reachin’ sermons, no ways; but some- 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


117 


times I do git kinder riled np, when I see the notions some 
folks has of life. But I suppose times always will be changin’, 
seein’ it ain’t in the natur’ of things for it to stand still. 

‘‘ ‘ Brother Jonathan and his family, you know, have been 
travelin’ nigh onto three years ; been mostly round the world, 
I guess ; and if bringin’ together all of the out of the way 
things and manners makes folks travel-wise, as they call it, 
then surely brother Jonathan’s family has improved their ad- 
vantages to a degree to be proud of. 

‘ The first evenin’ I arrived there, my brother Jonathan, 
(who once Avouldn’t even wear a pair of slippers with a red 
rose on ’em, that I made for him, because they was too gay), 
come into the room decked out in an old flowered yellow-and- 
red dressin’ gown, (I did see it was silk, however), with a red 
sort of cap on his head, with a gold tassel ; and sich a pair of 
slippers on his feet ; — scarlet, with big blue and yellow flowers, 
mixed all with gold thread and beads ; and in his mouth he 
carried a pipe, seemed to me, half a yard long, endin’ in a 
brown bowl, with a lion’s head on it. 

‘ Well I if a heathen Chinee, instead of a Christian man, 
had called me sister Maria, I shouldn’t have been more sur- 
prised. When he told me that was his smokin’ rig, which he 
got in Chiny, or some o’ them foreign parts, I did feel a little 
relieved in my mind, to think it wasn’t manufactured by any 
decent body in a Christian land. Of course, I ain’t surprised 
at anything them heathen Chinee will do ; and when brother 
Jonathan sot down and talked to me, without ever takin’ that 
smokin’ consarn from the corner of his mouth, and puffin’ the 
smoke in my very face, thinks I, ‘‘ I suppose these is Chinese 
manners too ! ” 

“ ‘ I can’t begin to tell you about their house, which was 
filled with outlandish traps from all parts of the world. But 
after the first night, I thought they might jist as well have put 
me into a menagerie of wild animals at once, for a bed cham- 
ber, as in that innocent lookin’ room, of pink and blue trim- 
min’s ; which turned out to contain, in bureau, table, and man- 
tle fixin’s, no less than ten lizards, two dragons, sixteen bees 
and butterflies, two elephants, six storks, and three monkeys. 
Of course, they was only gilt, or wood, or painted, or sewed on 
cloth ; but everything I took up, was either an animal, insect, 
or outlandish furriner. 

“ ‘ Now there’s jist one thing I always say to my neighbors, 
when any of them go for the first time to visit in them big 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


ii8 

houses in the city. ‘‘Don’t you no more touch your winder, 
or door, after you have been left for the night, than you would 
run out in the streets here to home, and cry murder ! and fire ! 
at midnight.” 

“ ‘ Bein’ so worried out with want of sleep, on account of the 
strangeness of the world I seemed jist to have come into for 
the first time, I got up about one o’clock, and thought I would 
open my winder to git some fresh air. Well! I might jist as 
well have rung all the church bells and fire bells, I’d ever 
heer’d at once, it ’peared to me. Sich a clatter, and ringin’, 
and bangin’ ; and when I jumped to the door to call brother 
Jonathan, and jist begun to open that — clang ! went more 
bells, and hammers, and tongs, and I don’t know what not. 

“ ‘ By this time, brother Jonathan come, and asked me in 
the coolest way what I wanted. I jist stared at him in hor- 
ror ; and when he see I was speechless with fright, he said : 
“ Why, sister Maria, you set off the burglar alarm, when you 
opened your window and door ! ” 

“ ‘ What a burglar alarm was, I never knew before I But I 
know now — and I think if there was a thief in every room in 
the house, and a whole gang o’ them on the stairs, and one 
breakin’ into every winder, all at the same minute, they 
couldn’t git up the horror and confusion them burglar alarms 
do. 

“ ‘It ’pears to me this American nation has, all of a sudden, 
been entirely born fresh over agin ; for every second person 
you meet seems to feel sure he, or she — particularly the she — 
was jist a horn artist, inherited from somewhere among their 
old ancestors, who, by the way, are so mixed up with all the 
people of them European countries, that it’s most amazin’ hard 
to find whom one does originate from ; but seein’ Darwin says 
we must all go back to monkeys for our distinguished great- 
great-grandfathers, I reckon it don’t matter much whether 
our noted progenitors wore the wooden Dutch shoes, or ate the 
Irish potatoes, or inherited the English fashionable gout, or 
had the French shrug, or the Italian laziness. Human natur’ 
is human natur’ the whole Avorld over ; and, perhaps, not so far 
from monlcey natur’ after all. 

“ ‘ But to go back to them jugs and things them nieces of 
mine is pastin’, and paintin’, and decoratin’, as they call it. I 
remember, one summer, sister Mary Ann — brother Jonathan’s 
wife — was quite shocked, when I told her I had been paintin’ 
and paperin’ up the spare room, because I couldn’t git a work- 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


II9 

man bandy. She said she didn^t think it was lady-like to do 
sich work, which was only fit for a man ; and now, there’s 
every one of her daughters a-coverin’ their fingers with paste, 
and paint, and even workin’ the very mud itself — but now, sis- 
ter Mary Ann talk^ of the art-tastes of her girls ! 

“ ‘ Well, there may be some mighty difference between cov- 
erin’ the wall of a room with paper, or puttin’ it on the sides 
of an old wooden wardrobe, (they call it a cabinet, 1 tliink), 
which turns a thing from bein’ onlady-UJce, to bein’ art ; but I 
don’t see it! and paintin’ a parlor door, or winder, may be 
most onfeminine ; while paintin’ some old cracked jar, may be 
most artistic. 

‘ But to me, white and green paint, is white and green 
paint ; whether it’s on a door, or some old jug what looks like 
my butter-crocks; and puttin’ in a new winder pane with putty, 
(which gave sister Mary Ann the horrors, when slie found me 
at it once), ’pears to me, ain’t nowise worse than daubin’ one’s 
fingers in the dirtiest-lookin’ clay I ever see, as her daughter 
Matilda does — but she is moddlin’ figur’s, they say ; and so it’s 
high art ! 

‘‘ ‘ Margareeta, (they call her that now, she used to be plain 
Margaret), she’s called the 'painter of the family. She has a 
room up in the top of the house, where she can git the light to 
come into the room from the centre of the ceilin’ — she calls it 
a studio. And if all the smells of a drugshop taken together, 
and then the odors of turpentine, and oil made stronger than 
all, and half painted bottles, and tins, and jugs, make a studio 
of art^ as they call it, then Margareeta’s room must stand 
among the first. 

‘‘ ‘ Now, I don’t say but what she has painted some things 
very well ; but what onsettles me in my notions, is tryin’ to 
find out why one of my butter-crocks is common and vulgar ; 
but when it is cover’d with black, red, or yellow paint, and the 
picter of an animal or insect painted or pasted on it, it becomes 
what they call art! 

“ ‘ The last things Margareeta was a paintin’ was a horse’s 
shoe, and a covv’s horn, and puttin’ on ’em butterflies and flow- 
ers. Well, perhaps it is nat’ral to paint a cow’s horn with 
cowslips and buttercups and butterflies, seein’ there’s some sort 
of association between ’em, in one’s mind, when one thinks of 
a pastur’; but decoratin’ a horse’s shoe with flowers, ’pears to 
me, is like hangin’ pearl beads round the neck of the tea-ket- 


120 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


tie, or ornamentin’ the waslitub with lace ruffles and pink rib- 
bons. 

Sister Mary Ann, (she calls herself now Marie Annetta), 
once said to me that she wouldn’t keep pans and sich like 
hangin’ on my kitchen walls, even if they was bright, it looked 
so old-fasliioned. And now she Las got some plates, what look 
enough sight like my old yellow pie-plates, (though, to be sure, 
they have got a picter painted on ’em), hung up on the wall, in 
her very grandest parlor. She says she bought them in Paris, 
and gave five hundred dollars a-piece for them ; and she offered 
me a thousand dollars for that old set of chiny, which belonged 
to my great-grandmother; and which has always been kept 
here at the homestead, and descended to the oldest girl ; when, 
years ago, she said to me, if they was hers she would sell ’em 
for anything they would bring, and git something newer fash- 
ioned. 

‘ So, you see, I have jist sot still in my chair, and never 
fretted about the fashions at all, and they have come round to 
me ; and my old brass candlesticks and andirons, bein’ de- 
scended from Revolutionary times, are become quite valuable; 
and my old spinnin’-wheel, in the sittin’-room, is become a 
most stylish piece of furnitur’. 

‘‘ ‘ My niece Jeannetta not takin’ to paintin’, or sculpin’, is 
in the pastin’ department of art ; which ain’t quite called high 
art. Wherever, on jar, vase, bottle, or pan, her sister Mar- 
gareeta paints a picter of flower, animal, or insect, Jeannetta 
pastes one. 

‘ ’Pears to me, grog cups, and jugs, ain’t in good taste to 
have in sight in no days — old, or new — but may be it’s because, 
like as in the art of smokin’, I ain’t edicated up to high art 
notions — and there’s some of the ways in 'which I can’t tell 
whether the 'vv'.orld’s goin’ backwards or forwards. ’Pears like, 
whatever I’ve been accustomed to think was goin’ do'v\mwards, 
in a moral direction ; people, nowadays, considers a sure mark 
of traveled civilization. But what’s rather queer, though in 
some things, folks has come back to my old fashions ; in morals, 
my notions, which belonged to the same time as my antique 
surroundin’s, are still jist as onfashionable as ever. So it 
’pears there must be something wi-ong with my morals ; though 
jist now, my candlesticks, and andirons, and spinnin’-wheels, 
and old laces, and old chiny, and old diamond belt buckles, are 
jist the most stylish things in the world. 

‘ Speakin’ about some of them relics, what have been dug 


A MORAL IJVHERITANCE, 12 1 

out of them old cities of Babylon and Pompy — (I believe that 
ain’t jist the way they call one o’ them cities, what was cover- 
ed up with ashes ; but I couldn’t begin to give half o’ them 
names, what brother Jonathan’s family mixes so into all their 
conversation). Well, as I was a sayin’, I do giv’ them wim- 
miii of Babylon the credit of not bein’ sich poor, weak, nervous, 
cryin’ creatur’s, as many of our so-called delicate^ sensitive^ 
females ; and my reason for this opinion, is this : 

‘ Sister Mary Ann showed me some stone bottles, which 
she said she brought from some of them places ; and they was 
the tear bottles, in which they used to bottle up their tears, 
and giv’ ’em as a sacred relic, to be handed down the genera- 
tions as somethin’ very precious. 

‘‘ ^ Now, if the tears some of the wimmin of Babylon shed, 
was considered sich an amazin’ sacred thing, by her husband 
and children ; it stands to reason she wasn’t whinin’, and snif- 
flin’ round the house every day of her life ; and burstin’ in sich 
floods of tears, as would take a hogshead to hold them signs 
of her grief, for jist one month. 

‘‘ ‘ What do I think of them Operies, and concerts, and sich 
like ? Now, though I hain’t had a finished musical edication, 
I do know what good, true music is. I don’t mean all them 
fantastic trills, and quavers, and shakin’s, and twitchin’s, 
which some of them Opery singers indulge in ; but I mean 
full, rich melody. Now, most folks think, because a person is 
from the country, and can’t sing an Opery in Italian, they 
don’t know what music is. But I think some folks is born 
with musical souls, even though they can’t sing a note ; or 
play the piany, either. Now I’d as lief hear one of them 
Thomas’ Orchestry concerts, as eat the best meal of victuals I 
ever see. I can’t tell you the names of any of them instruments, 
only I know there was was plenty of fiddles ; and I don’t know 
the names of the men, who composed the pieces they played ; 
but I do know, that there music they brought out of them in- 
struments, when I bear’d what they called the Messiah, sung 
by hundreds of voices, (that piece about Christ’s birth, you 
know ; when the songs of the angels was heer’d by the shep- 
herds) ; well, when I heer’d them voices and instruments to- 
gether, in that grand Hallelujah Chorus, ’pear’d to me it was 
grand enough to head the procession of livin’ saints, on that 
day when Gabriel’s trump shall rouse the dead, and call to- 
gether the livin’, to appear before the Great Judge of the 
world, 


122 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


‘‘ ‘ But, then, when it comes to most of this so-called fash- 
ionable singin’, either my want of a musical edication, or natu- 
ral musical tastes, must be most amazin’ at fault. But Mar- 
gareeta, who professes to be a fine musician, says : “ It’s im- 
possible to appreciate operatic music, without a true knowledge 
of artT 

‘ Well, all I know is, it didn’t take no art in me to enjoy 
immensely sich music as Thomas’ Orchestry giv’ ; and it didn’t 
take no art in me, to be most amazin’ pleased with some o’ them 
grand plays of Shakespeare, sich as Hamlet, and sich like. 
But if it takes a knowledge of art, to like them bailey-girls, ' 
what whirl and dance on the stage in every play and Opery in 
which they can make any kind of excuse for bein’ there, 
whether they belong to the piece or not — if I must have art 
to like this, I am most amazin’ better off without art, to my 
way of thinkin’. I do enjoy music, but can’t appreciate the 
bare-legged dancin’. I suppose the art wanted, to make me 
like them city Operies, must consist somewhere in sich a taste 
for the antique^ as will go clear back to Eve, before she took 
to makin’ garments of fig-leaves. 

“‘When I first went down to brother Jonathan’s, sister 
Mary Ann said I must go to her dressmaker, {modiste, she 
called her), and have a black silk made up in style. Well, to 
humor her and brother Jonathan, (for you may be pretty sure 
she couldn’t have got me to lay aside my comfortable garments, 
for them outlandish fixin’s, if brother Jonathan hadn’t ex- 
pressed a wish that I should have somethin’ real handsome) ; 
and he handed me a check for three hundred dollars, and told 
me to choose for myself whatever I wanted. I jist looked at 
him, at first, and asked him if he thought I was goin’ to buy a 
weddin’ outfit at once, to be needin’ all that money for one 
day’s shoppin’. But sister Mary Ann laughed, and said: 
“ Well, you’ll see!” and sure enough I did see — and when 
that ’ere dress, and cap, and laces, and bunnet, was purchased ; 
and one of them city dressmakers, had tried her hand on the 
dress ; and one of them milliners had made up that there cap 
and bunnet, there wasn’t a dollar left of that there three hun- 
dred ; and if sister Mary Ann hadn’t haggled with ’em over 
their charges, it would have taken another hundred, in the 
bargain. 

“ ‘ Well, when I put on them things, I jist felt as if I was 
a walkirC animated money-hag, to think of havin’ all that 
gmount of money on my back at one time. And really I with 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


123 


the trains,, and the bows, and the feathers, and the fussin’s — 
why, my old cat dressed up in my laces and caps, couldn’t feel 
more onnat’ral-like than I did, in them things what them city 
dressmakers pronounced, ‘‘so genteel, m plain If they 
hadn’t been brother Jonathan’s gift, I couldn’t have been per- 
suaded to wear ’em no ways. But fearin’ I’d hurt his feelin’s, 
I endured the humiliatin’ torture of makin’ myself a scare- 
crow on state occasions. But most times, I pleaded off, say- 
in’ I thought sich fixin’s, altogether out of keepin’ with my 
plain speech, and manners. 

“ ‘ ’Pears, New York itself ain’t big enough now, for them 
ladies what has traveled, and been to Paris ; and one can’t 
really be said to be well dressed, unless her garments \vas de- 
signed by that man dressmaker, Worth; who ’pears like he 
ruled every woman in the land, with more control than any 
father, or husband, or lover, ever had over ’em. If he says, 
“ Wear yellow ! ” they all wear yellow, even if tljey are as sal- 
low as a Chinese; and if he says, “Wear blue and purple!” 
they all exclaim, “ What a lovely, artistic, combination I ” If 
he says, “ Wear black ! ” they all sweep into the funeral pro- 
cession, with subdued elegance , or if he says, “ Wear green and 
red I” they exclaim, “ How Oriental! ” When he says, “ Wear 
short dresses ! ” they all skip into girlish garments, and display 
of ankle ; or if he commands, “ Wear long dresses 1 ” they drag 
yards behind them in graceful folds ; becomin’ street sweepers, 
and so unconsciously passin’ into the ranks of the despised 
workers. If, from his undisputed monarchy of fashionable prec- 
edence, he issues forth the mandate “ Undress yourselves / ” 
immediately this host of fair ones, stand forth to the world, 
livin’, breathin’, ondraped statur’s, and don’t even blush, except 
with rouge. 

“ ‘ But I must say, some o’ them city ladies reminded me 
most amazin’ much, of a picter I see at brother Jonathan’s 
house. 

“‘It was at a lunch party they give for their daughter, Mar- 
gareeta — “ a swell recherched ” affair, as their son Carlos, (he 
was named Charles), called it; though why a lunch party was 
recherched, I couldn’t find out. I ventured to ask Jeannetta, 
who I kinder took to, seein’ she was named after me, (though 
it was plain Jane then) ; but she said it was French, and 
couldn’t be explained in English. Then I asked her to spell 
it for me^ so that I could remeniber it, and she did so \ but 


124 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


now I come to think of it, I guess I’ve got it kinder wrong, at 
the end. 

“‘At first, I Avanted to stay in my own room, while they 
wa^ havin’ the party. But my brother Jonathan said, as I’d 
come all the way to New York to see the new fangled fash- 
ions, and ways, I must see the whole string of ’em. And the 
gii'ls, bein’ really good-hearted, said it would spoil half tlie fun, 
not to see how 1 took their new city ways. And thinks I, 
“ Well, if I can afford any amusement to these young folks, 
I’m sure I’m willin’.” But I really didn’t know what I’d 
bargained for. 

“ ‘ Well, you know about those here tickets, what they have 
for their lunch parties — Men-U., as they call ’em ? Tliat’s an- 
other French word I don’t understand, and I don’t believe 
they know themselves ; for Matilda told me that at one lunch 
party it meant cards ; at another, sashes ; at another, fancy 
pockets ; at another, painted smellin’ bottles, (vinegaretts, I 
think she said) ; at another, fans and feathers. I don’t see 
why they didn’t call ’em clap-traps, and done with it ! Per- 
haps that’s what the French means, after all. 

“‘Well, at this lunch party, they had painted cards at 
everybody’s place, with the name of the person who was to 
sit there written on ’em. There was only about twenty in the 
party, for the girls said lunch parties was always very select. 

“‘.After bein’ introduced to some of the young folks as 
Aunt Maria Jane, I begun to feel quite to home, and com- 
menced to enjoy myself, as I always do when I see young |)eople 
havin’ a good time. Soon we was marched out to lunch in 
couples, and brother Jonathan put me side of him, and I be- 
gun to think I was goin’ through sivell recher died lunch. 

party pretty well, for an old maid from the country. But as I 
looked down to the painted card with my name on, I thought I 
should sink through the floor. Now, I ain’t over prudish ; but 
when I see a painted man and woman, ’pears like they was in 
their night clothes, ("though I did see they had some sort of 
wings fastened to their shoulders), I did begin to feel most on- 
pleasant like; and thinkin’ there must be some mistake, I 
pushed my card under my plate, and tried to git kinder quieted 
down in my feelin’s. 

“ ‘ But what was my horror, when I see them all lookin’ at 
their cards, and admirin’ the picters on them, to hear Jean- 
netta, who sat on my other side, exclaim : “ Oh, v/here is 

that lovely card of Cupid and Psyche ? I don’t see it any- 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


125 


where; and it was the most beautiful of all ! Mr. Bernardo, 
I want *to show it to you, knowing your taste for the Old Mas- 
ters ! I really believe Aunt Maria Jane must have it ! ” and 
she turned to take my card. I tried to whisper to her that 
mine wasn^t the one, for it was the picter of a man and woman 
in their night clothes ; but she only laughed, and said to me, 
‘‘ Aunt Jane, that is the loveliest thing in art ! ’’ and to my 
horror and amazement, handed that very card right to that 
young gentleman to look at, without a blush on her face. 
Well, thinks I, perhaps them is angels ; and angels do wear 
somethin’ like night gowns in the picters in our old Bible. 

‘ When I asked sister Mary Ann about it, afterwards, she 
told me them picter galleries in Europe is jist full of ondraped 
figur’s ; and it’s considered the highest art, to paint or sculp- 
tur’ the human form. 

‘ Well, I only hope they always add the redeemin’ featur’ 
of wings ; for, ’pears to me, I never could stand up before the 
picter of an ondressed woman, without wantin’ to hold my 
shawl before her, to save her feelin’s. 

“ ‘ And when I see some o’ them ladies, at a ball sister Mary 
Ann give, with no dress waist to speak of at all ; and their 
skirts tied back so close, they could hardly walk ; and trailin’ 
on the ground, yards and yards behind them ; and their 
whole figur’s a standin’ out before them trailin’ skirts ; jist as 
if they didn’t have nothin’ to do with them at all ; I begun to 
think I wouldn’t have to go to them picter galleries in Europe, 
to feel like holdin’ my shawl up before the statur’ of an on- 
draped woman. To be sure, they carried yards of cloth 
behind ; but as that was only a coverin’ for the floor, I could- 
n’t see as it was much benefit to them ; it only seemed a sort 
of invitation to walk on it, and tear off the few clothes, that sot 
off their figur’s — they couldn’t be said, nowise, to coiner ’em. 
What of their ankles behind, they considered most improper to 
show ; bein’ necessary for politeness sake, to cover ’em up with 
three or four yards of sweepin’ trains — they, strangely, seemed 
most amazin’ ready to expose their necks in front ; thinkin’ 
natur’ herself completed all necessary coverin’, when she made 
the skin, without needin’ any additional help from modern 
dressmakers. 

“ ‘ What there is sd much more immodest in the sight of an 
ankle, than in the exposure of the whole neck and arm, indeed 
I can’t begin to tell — I expect there’s where their so-called art 
in dressin’ comes in. 


126 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


% 


‘ I must say, I do git riled in my feelin’s, when I think of 
the immodesty of modern dressin’. It’s bad enough, to make 
dressin’ the chief aim of a woman’s life — one, who is an im- 
mortal creatur’ ; and has got a mind, and soul, to think of, as 
well as a body. Surely, it’s bad enough to make a dressed up 
doll of a woman, who could be a power for good in usin’ the 
mind, and the heart, that God gave her, without addin’ to this 
the degradin’ of woman’s immortal soul by mere frivolity, and 
foolery — the degi-adin’ of her sense of all that’s loveliest in 
woman — her modesty ! There’s one thing, ’pears to me most 
strange. ’Tis that a sensible woman, who is growin’ old, and 
knows it, (as accordin’ to natur’, we can’t go backward in age), 
can be persuaded to think she looks well in sich fantastic rig- 
gin’s as seem to me only fit for an Indian squaw ; and dressin’ 
herself at fifty years of age, as though she was only fifteen ; 
and, ’pears to me, losin’ a most amazin’ sight of dignity and 
respectability in the operation. For French art, and that man 
dressmaker. Worth, in the bargain, can’t make a woman of 
fifty into a girl of twenty, nowise ; — only most amazin’ like a 
scarecrow. ’Pears to me, here’s where Darwin’s monkey 
natur’ comes in again ; — ajuzV what they can’t be. 

“ ‘ But I’ve come to the end of my yarn, if I h’ain’t finished 
my morilizin’. I’ve knit sich a heap of meditatin’s in with the 
stitches of these here stockin’s, that I guess, for onct, them 
poor folks what I’ve, made ’em for, will have their heeh 
freighted with wisdom^ notwithstandin’ the light cargo of idees 
they may carry in their heads. And as supper won’t nowise 
wait the convenience of moralizin’s, I must go to the kitchen 
and peel them potatoes. And I’ll leave these fancy notions for 
folks to discuss who’s got more time to waste than I have, in 
sich idle spekelatin’s.’ ” 

When Aseneith had finished the homespun philosophies of 
the quaint spinster, all her hearers voted that her Yankee com- 
mon-sense w^as far more to the purpose in life, than assthetical 
crazes, and foolish fashions ; which are as far removed from 
true home elegance, and becoming and modest attire, as snobs 
differ from innate gentlemen, or tinsel is inferior to sterling 
gold. 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


127 


CHAPTER IX. 

It was the week after the picnic, which had proved quite a 
success as regards the continued misunderstanding of each oth- 
er’s mental accomplishments. Each girl had gone armed with 
the lightest novel, to prove her weak brains ; and they had all, 
at times, squealed most shrilly at the sight of bugs and spiders, 
to show their want of appreciation of the charms of natural 
history. Four pug dogs had reposed familiarly in four femi- 
nine laps ; and had added the charm of their impudent noses, 
to emphasize the impertinent silliness of their fair owners’ 
tastes. They had smattered bungling French, and had tor- 
mented the poor professor’s ears with shrill shrieks of unpars- 
able Latin ; and had begged the doctor to “ Please do dissect a 
lovely fly ; — it is so perfectly delightful to know a little bit 
about dear Darwin’s science ! ” 

And somehow, Hector found himself thinkinoj that after all, 
Aseneith was not quite so beautiful when she talked the same 
silly nonsense he had listened to indiflerently, and thought a 
matter of course, when in the presence of many other Avomen. 
Before the day was over. Hector and his friends had exchanged 
the confidential remark, that they thought those girls were 
playing some new prank, to impose upon their masculine cre- 
dulity ; and straightway, they all agreed to play at the same 
game ; in which they so effectually succeeded, that Antoinette 
favored Hector with the remark, that evening, upon their .re- 
turn, that he and his friends had fulfilled her utmost wishes in 
imitating a Barnum’s show’^ for their feminine edification. And 
Hector had slyly hinted to her, that he and the other fellows, 
didn’t think their silly dodge was, somehow, quite so becoming 
to their style of beauty, as their assumed learning. 

Assumed she cried. “Oh, Hector, dear! I never 
gave you credit for such keen powers of perception. But 
didn’t we silly women play the pedantic well ? All 

right I We’ll try to play learned again for your diversion. 
Perhaps we can study up a few more bright tlioughts, though 
I almost fear it is too much to require of poor Aseneith’s brain. 


128 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


Such unusual mental activity may be injurious to her beauty. 
She is beautiful, isn’t she, Hector, dear? Now, if she were 
only gifted with brains, you see, I could prove to you my the- 
ories concerning woman’s power. If she had ever written a 
book, for instance ; or made a literary reputation in the world ; 
what a proof positive she’d be, of woman’s possibilities in men- 
tal culture ! ” 

“ Well, if tia woman as beautiful as she, could ever write as 
sensible an essay as that last magazine article I read to you, 
entitled ‘ The Future Fiction of America,’ I should at once 
and for all acknowledge, that woman’s intellectual possibili- 
ties were bounded only by the extent of her mind-culture, in 
any department of literature, science, or art.” 

“What, even the law, brother mine? Can woman really 
learn to argue, think you ? ” 

“Well, their intuitions would serve them where their logic 
ended, if their faces were as beautiful as your fair friend’s, and 
their minds capable of being the authors of such writings as 
I have mentioned. But why suppose the impossible, my 
Toy ? Those essays were evidently written by a man, and 
your friend is only a very pretty woman, with the average 
sliare of feminine brain.” 

“Yes, why argue?” rejoined Antoinette. “ Facts only, 
can convice the reasoning intellect of man. We’ll leave it to 
facts ! ” 

He * * 5k * * * 

“Our smart plot deepens, fair conspiritors !” exclaimed 
Antoinette, that evening, in her cosy boudoir, to her assembled 
forces. “The enemy weakens! Listen! They think our 
‘ silly dodge ’ was not as becoming to our style of beauty, as 
our ‘ assumed learning! Oh ! if we had the vanity of men, 
we should betray ourselves too soon. Beware ! Let not our 
pride be so puffed up as to make us rash ! ” 

“ Our ‘ assumed learning! Avas becoming, indeed ! — Hoav 
grateful silly Avomen should be for such concession ! ” cried 
Eulalie. 

“ How proud we are, that we are capable of a'ping wis- 
dom ! ” laughed Lucille. 

“ How thankful I am that a pug dog is not considered my 
most congenial and becoming companion ! ” said Aseneith. 
“ Indeed, girls, that ugly pug was the worst of all my conde- 
scensions in the cause of masculine depravity.” 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


129 

“Well, you were well rewarded, dear,’’ said Antoinette, 
“ for Hector told me, tliat lie never wished to see a pug dog 
in the arms of a beautiful woman again ; thougli he has often 
before remarked, that it seemed strange that I never showed 
any. fancy to pet dogs, as so many women did. And now, 
Neith, dear, be wary ! Hector says, if a woman as pretty as 
you are could have written the essay on The Future Fiction of 
America, he would acknowledge woman’s utmost intellectual 
possibilities. But don’t be puffed up with pride ! For he 
added, that no woman ever wrote it ; and though you were 
beautiful, he did not suppose you were possessed of more than 
a fair average of feminine brain. Now, dear, on you hangs 
all our hope ! As you did write it, and as Master Hector has 
made this confession unawares, proceed ! — the drama pro- 
gresses ! We will play our parts. Be Rosamond, if you like ! 
Be Portia, when you will ! Be listening Desdomona ! — Be 
one, — and all ! — only so that you convince rny sceptic brother 
that woman can be wise though pretty, and can be winning, 
though she dare seek knowledge as an aim in life.” 

* * * * if. , % ^ 

^ The summer was almost over. Hector, blustering and self- 
asserting Hector, had grown pensive, and sometimes was 
strangely silent in Aseneith’s presence. Whereas, the quiet 
professor, under Antoinette’s adroit management, had become 
quite eloquently loquacious. Doctor Wentworth and Miss 
Lucille Fielding, had advanced from the study of the nerves, 
and found themselves unconsciously experimenting upon the 
emotions ; much to the austere doctor’s surprise, as he had 
Jiitherto prided himself upon his complete indifference to all 
emotional fancies. Mr. Edgar Lewellyn continued to wage 
wordy war with his fair opponent, and often found that his 
legal learning did not prevent him from being routed. 

Aseneith, wearied of her inseparable light novel — which she 
had assiduously carried, lest Hector should, peradventure, sup- 
pose that she strove to assert some pretensions to literary abil- 
ity — had stolen away, one day, alone. She sought a safe re- 
treat from profane eyes in a small arbor overlooking the pic- 
turesque river. Here she had dared to bring her note-book, 
and several books of reference in regard to a subject upon 
which she was then writing ; being a short article upon the 
comparison of musical tones of sound, and rainbow tones of 

9 





130 


A MORAL INBRRITANCE. 


Here Hector accidentally found her. He carried in his hand 
a magazine ; and glancing toward her pile of books, he ex- ■ 
cused his interruption by saying that he was anxious to know ’ 

her opinion regarding an article that had very greatly inter- ; 

ested him, and he would beg leave to read it to her, if she had no 
objection. As the books beside Aseneith were lying with their 
titles concealed. Hector did not conjecture their nature ; and 
remarked that he was sorry to hinder her letter writing, but 
‘‘perhaps your kind friends will wait the pretty messages you 
have to send them.” 

“ Oh, yes,” smilingly replied Aseneith ; “the readers of my t 
weighty thoughts, will most kindly wait my leisure.” 

Aseneith was clad in some clinging black lace garments, 
wdiich made her clear brunette skin gleam white as polished 
ivory. On the black lace which caressed her white tliroat, 
there glowed a marvelous opal ; blazing with such a red hre, 
as a stray sunbeam fell across the shoulder of the handsome 
girl, that Hector could not resist the inclination to remark the 
unusual light flashing forth from the rare jewel. 

“ What a superb opal you wear, Miss Allan ! It is the 
finest gem I have ever seen.” 

“ Yes, it is a true fire-opal,” replied Aseneith ; “ and it has 
a weird and fascinating history. I have never believed in the 
necromancy of lode-stones, moonstones, and all that sort of 
thing ; but 1 have really become somewhat superstitious about 
this opal. Not in its ill-luck, as most persons believe, but in 
a certain magnetic influence. I will tell you what is knowm 
of its strange history, and how it came into my possession. 

“ The legend connected with it goes back to the time of* the 
conquest of Mexico by Cortes. The ancient city of Mexico, , 
was being besieged by the Spaniards. The Aztecs, under their 
brave prince, Guatemozin, whose princess wife was Tecuichpo, 
the youngest daughter of the unfortunate Montezuma, were 
reduced to sore straits through famine and pestilence. The 
Spaniards had succeeded in forcing an entrance into the city, 
and were passing down the great avenue that intersected the 
town from north to south ; while in the distance, dark masses 
of Indian warriors might have been seen, gathering to the de- 
fence of their imperial city. The sides of the avenue were 
lined with buildings, upon the terraced roofs of which, Aztecs 
crowded ; and as the hostile Spaniards advanced, they poured a 
stream of sharp missiles on their heads ; and only the steel 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, I3I 

coats of mail, worn by the Spaniards, prevented the infliction 
of mortal wounds. 

On one side, stood the palace of Axayacatl ; and opposite, 
the palace of Montezuma. Upon a third side of the square, 
stood the CoatepantU^ or Wall of Serpents, which surrounded 
the great teocalli, or little city of holy edifices, consecrated to 
the worship of the Aztec gods. Here, a year before, the 
Spaniards had torn down the heathen idols, and planted the 
symbol of the Cross. But now again, the Aztecs had raised 
another war-god, and placed its hideous and fantastic form in 
the usual niche occupied by that idol. The Spaniards again 
cast down the image, and tore away its mask of gold ; and 
seizing the rich jewels, with whicli it was adorned, they hurled 
the struggling priests down the steep sides of the fateful pyra- 
mid, where they were accustomed to throw their human vic- 
tims, who were sacrificed in the temple in honor of the Aztec 
gods ; while the heads of the victims, strung together on 
stakes, crowned the wall adorned with serpents, which formed 
the front of the Plaza. 

The Aztecs, indignant at this sacrilegious outrage by the 
Spaniards, raised a yell of horror and revengeful fury, and 
threw themselves upon their invading foes, and drove them to 
the outskirts of the city. 

‘‘ But again the Spaniards prepared to make another attack 
upon the capital. In order to bring the Aztecs to subjection, 
Cortes determined to destroy some of the principal edifices, 
which the Mexicans were accustomed to venerate as the pride 
and ornament of their city. First, the old Palace of Axaya- 
catl was doomed. Thenv the torch was applied to the Palace 
of Montezuma. Adjoining tliis building, was the Home of 
Birds, filled with specimens of all the gorgeous and varied 
species native to the forests of Mexico. This was an elegant 
structure, light and airy, and was the particular delight of 
Montezuma. But the fateful torches were ruthlessly applied to 
it ; and instantly the picturesque building was ablaze, and the 
relentless' flames wrapped its impriscned songsters with their 
hissing tongues of fire, which sent their direful splendors over 
city and lake, and crimsoned the midnight sky. Many poor 
birds, bursting through the burning lattice-work, flew with loud 
screams to their native forests. Whilst others, with manyflut- 
terings of singed wings, fell back again into the lurid flames, 
only to be destroyed by their devouring fury. 

“ The Aztecs, gazing with horror upon this destruction of 


132 


A MORAL lALlERlTANCE. 


the palaces of their monarchs, and the sacred places conse- 
crated to their gods, vowed vengeance. When their cruel con- 
querors had retreated beyond the city, to the camp of Alvarado, 
the great drum in the temple of the war-god was heard. As 
the doleful beats resounded through the city, and were echoed 
by the hills like peals of tliunder, the Spaniards knew that 
some solemn act of religious worship was about to be performed 
within the sacred precincts of the teocalli ; and they looked 
with eager, and yet dreaded expectation toward the Wall of 
Serpents, which enclosed the little city of holy edifices. As 
they were less than a mile away, the terrible spectacle now 
presented, was plainly visible. 

“ A long procession was winding up the steep side of the 
pyramid, the flat summit of which was called the teocalli. As 
the long file of priests and Aztec warriors reached the top, 
the Spaniards beheld with horror, in their midst, the figures of 
several men, stripped to their waists ; whom tliey recognized, 
by the whiteness of their skin, as their own countrymen. They 
were the victims for the coming sacrifice. Their heads were 
decorated with gay plumes, and they were urged along with 
blows by their captors ; who placed gaudy fans in their hands, 
and forced them to take part in the dances, in honor of the 
Aztec war-god. Then the captives, one after another, were 
stretched upon the great stone of sacrifice. The priestly exe- 
cutioner, by a strong blow with a sharp sword, cut asunder the 
ribs of his helpless victim \ and, thrusting his l)and into the 
wound, tore out the reeking heart, still quivering with the life- 
throbs of the last wild shrieks of the dying man ; and these 
ghastly trophies were collected in a golden censer, and placed 
before the huge and hideous idol, as the most acceptable offer- 
ings to their warlike deity. The bodies of the slaughtered 
victims, were then hurled down the steep stairs of the pyra- 
mid ; where they were gathered by savages beneath, who pre- 
pared them for a cannibal feast, which completed the shocking 
and revolting ceremonies. 

“ Again the Spaniards endeavored to conquer the intrepid 
Aztecs ; but they still held a part of the city with resistless 
energy, under their brave Guatemozin, and bid defiance to their 
invading foes, inspired by the prophecies of the sacred oracles, 
which promised them victory in eight days. So they held out 
in grim determination, though their streets were piled up with 
the heaps of their dead, and starvation stared them in the face ; 
for they were reduced to using for food the bark of trees, and 


A MORAL INHERITAA^CR, 


133 


roots, and grass, and seaweeds ; wliile night after night, fresh 
victims were led up to the great altar of sacrifice, in the liope 
of securing the help of their war-god in resisting their foes. 
But the eight days prescribed by the oracle passed away, and 
the city was still surrounded by their inexorable enemies. The 
Aztecs were in despair. Sickening heaps of corpses were seen 
on all sides, and their food was at last exhausted. In this ex- 
tremity, the heroic Guatemozin at length surrendered to Cortes, 
and the city of Mexico was conquered. 

“ Now comes the legend of my opal. When the Spaniards 
had cast down the Aztec idols, the God of Love had been de- 
stroyed among the other images. This opal had adorned the 
breast of this idol ; and as the Spanish soldiers tore away the 
masses of gold and jewels, this opal had been seized by a little 
page of Cortes. The page had been much indebted to a beau- 
tiful Indian woman, Doha Marina ; a lovely Mexican girl, who 
had been sold by her mother, the cacique^ or ruler of the prov- 
ince of Coatzacualco. Desiring to secure the inheritance for a 
younger brother of Marina, the inhuman mother had sold her 
daughter, when a child, to some foreign traders. Cortes, meet- 
ing her when she had grown to womanhood, was struck with 
her beauty ; and employed her as his interpreter with the 
Aztecs, her countrymen. Marina was afterwards married to a 
Castilian knight, Don Juan Xaramillo ; and the Spaniards, in 
reward for her assistance to Cortes, assigned to her large estates 
in Mexico. Many Indian ballads commemorate Marina, or Mal- 
inche, which was her Aztec name. The legends say that she 
was very beautiful and kind^ and that even now, h^r spirit 
hovers over the capital, and that an apparition of an Indian 
princess is sometimes seen flitting through the shadows among 
the groves and grottoes of the royal Hill of Chapultepec. 

“ As Dona Marina had been very kind to the little page, he 
brought to her the great fire-opal he had seized from the image 
of the Love-God ; where it had blazed like a globe of impris- 
oned fire, upon the breast of the sacred idol, and which was 
supposed to be a most potent love-charm. As Dona Marina 
was an Aztec, and had once believed in these heathen deities, 
she received this royal gift with intense emotion. For, though 
she had adopted the faith of her Spanish allies, she retained 
enough of her ancient superstition to be greatly moved by this 
momentous event. It was believed, that whoever possessed 
this matchless opal, would have the power of winning to itself 
the love of any mortal upon whom they should bestow this 


134 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


magical gift, with the desire of attracting the most ardent affec- 
tion and admiration of the favored recipient. 

No wonder that Doha Marina received the costly gift with 
trembling eagerness ! She had just fallen in love with the 
Castilian knight, Don Juan Xaramillo, and would win him for 
her husband. Doha Marina married her Castilian knight, and 
lived in the city of Mexico ; where she resided in the street of 
Medinas, as it is now called, but which then bore the name of 
her husband, Xaramillo. She is said to have had a pleasure- 
house at Chapultepec, and a garden in Cupoacan, which had 
once belonged to Montezuma. Mention is made in history of 
her grandchild. But my story has to do with some of the 
lejjends concerninof her. 

“ An uncle of mine visited the city of Mexico, some years 
ago, and made the acquaintance of a family who claimed to be 
the descendents of Dona Marina. This family lived in the 
older portion of the city, on the street of Santa Teresa. The 
ruins of the old palace of Axayacatl, were brought to light 
while laying the foundations of some houses recently construct- 
ed in this street, near the Convent of the Conception. 

Perhaps I may weary you, Mr. Ormandoff, by this long 
introduction to my opal, but these quaint traditions interest me 
greatly ! 

‘‘ The story is very fascinating, Miss Allan ! ’’ replied Elec- 
tor ; and he thought, ‘‘ The story-teller is still more charm- 
ing!’’ but he did not reveal this thought, but added, “ I am 
waiting with keen curiosity, for the further history of the mar- 
velous dfyal.” 

“ My uncle had previously met the head of this household, 
in connection with some business matters, in New York city ; 
and upon his visiting Mexico, he had been courteously invited 
to a grand ball, given in the old family mansion, in honor of 
the only daughter of the house, who bore the name of her 
ancient ancestor, Marina. Her father, Don Hernando Xuarez, 
had told my uncle of the wonderful opal, an heirloom in his 
family, which was to be worn by his beautiful daughter for the 
first time at this ball. My uncle, therefore, started for the 
mansion, feeling a much greater curiosity to behold the mar- 
velous opal, than to secure a sight ofi the daughter ; whom he 
supposed was probably much like other Mexican women, of 
whose charms he was not an enthusiastic admirer. He entered 
the ballroom, and carelessly approached the host, who greeted 
him courteously, and then added : ‘ My daughter is on the 


A MORAL INHERIl'ANCE. 


135 


veranda leading to the court, as the night is so warm. Let me 
conduct you to her?’ Carelessly my uncle followed Don 
Xuarez, expecting to behold some swarthy, rather slovenly 
Mexican signorita ; dressed in tawdry finery, not over particu- 
lar as to her toilet, either as to good taste or cleanliness ; for 
such had been his previous experience with Mexican ladies. 

“I happen to have here in my notebook, the letter my 
uncle wrote me, when he sent me the jewel.” 

“ Please read it ! ” said Hector. “ I am intensely interested 
in the history of so beautiful a gem.” 

Aseneith, finding the letter, began where she had left off in 
the narrative. 

“ ‘ As I entered the veranda,’ wrote my uncle, ‘I beheld 
standing near a small orange tree, which, laden with white 
blossoms, grew near a fountain in the open court, now illumin- 
ed with many colored lanterns, a vision of beauty. The girl 
was attired in a dress of gold-tinted gauze. Her arms were 
bare to the shoulders, and clasped with circlets of diamonds ; 
and in each tiny ear, there sparkled a jewel of rare beauty. 
But opals and diamonds were dimmed by the light in her eyes. 
Her father presented me, and in soft liquid tones, she mur- 
mured in English, to which a slight Spanish accent added an 
indescribable charm : “ You are the gentleman Americano ? I 

am pleased to have met you. My father has often spoken 
your name.” 

‘ Was it her eyes, or the mysterious opal, which glowed on 
her breast, which now began to throw round me a strange mys- 
tic spell ? I had never loved, and yet I was already 'engaged. 
I had fallen into the snare of pledging myself to an heiress. 
She was not an insipid beauty, “ icily regular, splendidly null ; ” 
nay, rather, she was decidedly plain. But in an heiress, that 
does not always matter ; and like other foolish fellows, I had 
concluded that marriage was after all a mercenary bargain ; 
and the bigger the purse the better the bargain, as the 
woman must be thrown in as a necessary incumbrance. I 
was bound in honor to another ; yet this girl’s face had already 
stirred my heart with emotions so strange, and so magnetic, 
that I could not rid myself of their weird fascination. And 
even after the ball was over, and I had returned to my hotel, 
her face was a vision before my mind’s eye, which could not be 
effaced by my will or my reason, though I endeavored to per- 
suade myself that it was only some foolish fancy which a 
night’s sleep would eradicate. 


136 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


“ ‘ But weeks passed away, aiul still I lingered in the Mexi- 
can capital, spellbound by the charms of this fair, lovely being. 
She was not a mere soulless, beautiful animal, like many of 
her countrywomen. Her mind had been carefully cultured by 
travel, and study, and the best masters which Europe afforded. 
For her father was a man of large means, and cosmopolitan 
tastes, and had spent years abroad with his idolized daughter, 
whose slightest wish was his law. 

‘Tiie last time I beheld her ; — shall I ever forget it? So 
entranced had I become with Marina, that I felt I must 
win her ; and yet honor sealed my lips, while still bound to 
another. I had determined to return to my home in New 
York, and break the hated bonds which there held me. Surely, 
a broken engagement, whicli had been formed only upon a 
mercenary basis, was more lionorable than living a life-long 
lie. 

‘ So one evening, I went to bid Marina farewell, for a sea- 
son. That she loved me, I hoped, from some slight tokens, 
which even her natural reserve had failed to conceal. But it 
was only a hope, and I must be free to win her, before I could 
test it. I found her that evening in her favorite place on the 
veranda, which surrounded the picturesque open court, wdth its 
fountains, and dowsers, and soft-colored lights, wdiich illumined 
its orange-bordered paths. This fairy-like spot w^as now flood- 
ed with the silvery effulgence of the full moon. 

‘ Marina was dressed in some oriental material of w’hite 
gauze, embroidered in silver. The design was the lotus flower, 
and amidst the dark loops of her hair nestled one fragrant 
lotus blossom, which gave to her beauty the weird charm of 
some old fairy legend of the East. In her beautiful form and 
face there w^as combined the alluring voluptuous splendor of an 
oriental Cleopatra, softened by the subtle and delicate fascina- 
tion of modern refinement. She w^as the embodiment of the 
power of modern civilization to uplift and purify the merely 
physical charms of the old types of the beauties of the Orient. 
A Cleopatra might have possessed her form, but only a pure 
Madonna could have looked from her eyes, and spoken through 
her lips, w^here the lines of refinement and purity had chiselled 
away the coarser curves of a sensuous nature. 

‘ When I announced my speedy departure, the glance I 
surprised in her eyes, strengthened my hope. I left her al- 
most abruptly, with a parting adieu of customary politeness ; 
for my heart was so thrilled, that I dared risk no longer the 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


137 « 


restraint of silence I Lad placed upon my lips. One moment 
more, and I should have told of my adoring devotion. Oh, 
why was I not warned of the future ? and why did I allow my 
heart to be held by imaginary and useless restraint ? 

‘ I left her and returned to New York. My heiress had 
already found some handsomer fellow than I, whom she would 
endow with her gold. Business' detained me in the North, or 
I should have speedily returned to Mexico. Then I heard 
that Marina was ill, very ill, nigli unto death. Oh, how slowly 
the steam engine seemed to crawl through the space which 
separated us, as I took my journey, in hot haste, to be near her ! 

* Twas in vain ! When I reached the city of Mexico, and 
hurried to the mansion of Don Hernando Xuarez, Marina was 
dead ! My lovely Lotus-Lily had perished forever ! Her fair 
form was arrayed in the habiliments of the tomb ! 

‘‘ As I entered the apartment where she lay in her coffin, I 
started — so lifelike she looked — clad in the same garments in 
which I had last beheld her, the oriental gauze embroidered 
with silver lotus flowers. And see ! yes, again a fragrant 
white lotus blossom nestled in the coils of her dark hair. But her 
glorious eyes ! — Ah, those bright orbs were veiled by the ivory-- 
white lids, silken fringed, which lay on her pale death-blanched 
cheeks ! Oh, why had cruel death snatched her from my warm 
clasp ! Yes, that was the saddest part of the story. 1 cannot 
repeat to you her last message. ’Tis too sacred for the ear of 
a mortal. This in brief is the story of the last scene in this 
heart-drama. 

“ ‘ One day, at dinner, soon after my departure, some friends 
had mentioned in her presence the rumor of my engagement to 
the New York heiress. Marina listened in silence, but her 
father noticed that from that day she drooped. When dying, 
she told him her secret, and she begged him to give me her 
opal, after her death, together with a sealed letter addressed to 
me. Receiving these sacred relics of my lost idolized love, I. 
retired to my rootn. I shall mention only the opal. As I 
opened the case containing the marvelous gem, and lifted it 
from its resting-place upon the white satin lining, I perceived 
on the under side of the stone, a plate of frosted gold, set with 
rare diamonds, in the form of four letters, spelling the word — 
Love! — As I accidentally pressed one of the stones, a hidden 
spring opened a locket ; one side of which was formed by the 
opal in its delicate setting. Within lay a tiny fragment of 
parchment, upon which were inscribed strange hieroglyphics, 


4 138 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


which I could not decipher. But looking again, I discovered 
a small piece of delicate white paper, upon which this trans- 
lation was written : If the one who receives this opal shall 

be my twin-soul, formed by Quetzalcoatl, the Love-god, in the 
far distant dawn of the universe, when the firmament was 
sprinkled with star-dust, and spirits were quickened to life ; — in 
token whereof, great Quetzalcoatl, god of the air and the light, 
caught from the bright Milky Way one drop of the nectar of 
love, and imprisoned within it a star-gleam, and that mortals 
might know of its power, he gave this rare jewel to the priest 
of his image, to be placed on the breast of the idol consecrated 
to his worship on earth. And forthwith he decreed, that when- 
ever the destiny of two mortals should be united through the 
potent charm of this opal, then should their spirits ascend to 
the heavens, even though death might divide them on earth. 
And these* souls thus united by the magnetic spell of the love- 
charm, when their mortal bodies shall be dissolved into their 
primitive elements, shall still bask in the light of an undimmed 
and immortal love, and in the coming hereafter, their souls will 
be twin stars forever.” ’ 

‘‘ So my uncle always w^ore this opal,” continued Aseneith, 
“ and never married, and in his will it w^as left to me.” 

“Is the parchment still within the locket?” asked 
Hector. 

“ Yes,’ answered Aseneith ; “ I have never shown it to any 
gentleman, for I have a slight superstition about it. Some time, 
perchance — ” but she didn’t finish her sentence ; and Hector 
noting her slight embarrassment, resumed the subject of the 
magazine article, by remarking : 

“ I read this article to Toy, but though she is clever enough, 
I thought that she did not fully appreciate its literary merits.” 

“ Indeed ! Then why waste your time on me, if your bright 
sister did not, prove adequate to the mental discrimination re- 
quired? ” demurely asked Aseneith. “’Twere a pity for a 
man to be disappointed in the intellectual capabilities of tw^o 
women I ” she continued, breaking off a rich red rose from the 
clambering bush which w^as trained over tlie arbor. 

“ Well, somehow. Miss Allan,” stammered Hector, “ I’ve 
sometimes imagined that you knew a great deal more than you 
pretended to.” 

“ And so you wish to test my mental caliber ? ” said 
Aseneith, toying with the rose, and darting a swift and mis- 
chievous glance toward Hector, who was leaning against a side 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


139 


trellis. you were that brilliant Doctor Wentworth, I 

should imagine that you were longing for my demise ; that you 
might skilfully and scientifically dissect my empty head, and 
by your scales ascertain the lightness of that bubble called my 
brain ! ’’ she continued, with slight sarcasm. 

‘^Have mercy, Miss Allan!” remonstrated poor Hector, 
who somehow, did not like to hear her call the doctor brilliant, 
ill his presence. 

But Aseneith continued : As you are a most learned 

lawyer, with opinions founded upon the immovable rock of 
logic, why wish to know the vain and superficial guess of a 
weak-brained woman, upon so weighty a subject as a literary 
criticism?” and plucking a crimson rose-petal, she lightly 
poised it on her finger, and tlien blew it into the air, where it 
rose like a flaming butterfly. The pose of the girl was uncon- 
sciously bewitching, but purposely indifferent ; as though she 
would dispose of all wearying problems as lightly as she had 
tossed the rose petal into the air. But as she demurely veiled 
her bright eyes witli the long silken lashes, there flashed forth a 
diamond gleam, which only the red rose lying in her lap was a 
witness of. And when she again raised her face toward Hec- 
tor, there was only an expression of polite endurance visible 
upon her countenance. 

Why do you always deny that woman’s intellect is strong, 
and capable of cultivation ? ” asked Hector, seating himself on 
the arbor bench beside Aseneith. 

‘‘ Oh, you mistake I I do not deny ; — I leave that for man 
to do ; — I only do not assert her claims of mental superiority ; 
— I leave that also for man to do, concerning his own intel- 
lectual position. Woman’s intellect is safe enough when left 
to facts. She does not need pompous assertions. The time 
has passed for those.” 

“ That’s exactly what Toy says,” rejoined Hector. 

And I think your clever sister is proof enough, that woman 
may cultivate her mind without losing any of her charms of 
manner, or any of her fascinations of beauty,” added Ase- 
neith, roused to animation in spite of her indifferent mask. 

. ■ ‘‘ Toy is clever, that can’t be disputed I ” admitted Hector. 
‘‘ But sometimes I fear, that being so exclusively in my society, 
I may make her a trifle masculine, by allowing her to imbibe 
too many of my ideas,” he continued, patronizingly. 

“ Really ! how grateful she must be ! As it has always be^n 
supposed that women were so desirous of becoming masculine 


140 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


in mind, by aping men’s opinions, and quoting men’s thoughts ; 
— as it has only lately been admitted that woman could think for 
herself! — what a blessing it would be, if all women could be 
favored with learned brothers, who could supply their lack of 
mental endowments, by storing their memories with smart say- 
ings which they could repeat with parrot-like comprehension 
and aptness ! 

“ Don’t be so severe. Miss Allan, I beg of you I ” said Hec- 
tor, with a growing feeling of discomfort at the turn the con- 
versation had taken ; and being forced for the first time, to 
look upon his lordly guardianship of his sister’s mind, in 
rather an unenviable liglit. ‘‘ But indeed, Miss Allan, don’t you 
think a woman is happier Avhen she does not botlier her brains 
about learning, beyond polite accomplishments ; and does not 
care for politics, and philosophy, and present problems of hu- 
manity, and all that sort of thing; but busies herself in mak- 
ing her own pretty self irresistibly fascinating to the poor for- 
lorn beings who have no time to cultivate the beautiful, in the 
rush of the strife of getting bread and butter?” 

“ And, pray, why shouldn’t woman be allowed to help in 
getting the bread and butter, without receiving only blame, 
where man is awarded only praise, for the same commendable 
performance ? ” retorted Aseneith, as the color mantled her 
ciieeks, and she even forgot to veil her eyes, as she went on 
with increasing ardor: And then the poor forlorn men would 

have a little time, perhaps, to cultivate the beautiful; and 
women would gain a vast amount of dignity and strength of 
mind ; and I doubt if she would lose any of her irresisti- 
ble fascinations in the operation, either.” 

Now, Miss Aseneith, how absurd to suppose, that a woman 
as pretty as you are — I mean no flattery ! — could earn her 
bread and butter in this common-place, drudging world I Why, 
such women are only made to be petted, and loved, and to 

have devoted and strong arms to take care of them ; and ” 

but suddenly remembering how far he had betrayed his feel- 
ings, he blushed, and hesitated. But Aseneith came to his 
rescue, with the cool remark : 

“But, Mr. Ormandoff, what if we object to being made idle^ 
pets ; and have a notion that we have a right, and wisli to help 
in the daily cares of life ; — not only with our hands, wdiicli has 
always been kindly allowed to us, but also with our heads ? 
For the suggestion will force itself forward, and demand reply : 
If woman is either to be uselessly pretty, or if not endowed 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


141 

with beauty, a homely drudge — why was she cumbered with 
the gift of a useless mind, which she is not allowed to culti- 
vate beyond an utterly worthless superficiality ; and so it be- 
comes merely a torment, instead of a God-given delight, and 
a power to secure for her the blessing of self-respecting inde- 
pendence ? 

But man delights in being the strong oak, to support the 
tender vine of woman’s frailer loveliness ! ” said Hector, en- 
thusiastically. 

“Oh, Mr. Ormandoff, how can your keen mind resort to 
such a trite and worn-out simile ! The oak and vine! — Oh, 
yes, it is a charming contrast ! But please remember, that oak 
trees sometimes die, in spite of tender twining vines. And 
then, if vines have no independent roots of strength, and means 
of sustenance, all their clinging loveliness goes for naught, and 
they must die ; or be that hated thing — a parasite I — which in 
the human race, becomes — a toady I If loving fathers, de- 
voted husbands, and tender brothers, always existed and 
always lived ; then man might always be the strong and sturdy 
oak, and woman might be willing to aim no higher than to be 
a twining vine, clinging to man for her support. But even 
then, woman would miss half the glorious destiny for which 
she was ordained ; for she was to be a helpmate^ not checkmate^ 
in the game of life. But enough of solemn sermons I ” Then 
she archly added : “ Allow a syllogism : Man has intellect. 
Woman is man’s better half; therefore, w’oman has man’s bet- 
ter half of intellect.” 

“ Well, if I grant that very logical conclusion, which I fear 
would be most illogical in law ; you must allow me to test your 
intellect, by giving your opinion on this article that I wish to 
read to you. Do you often see this magazine ? ” 

“ I read it sometimes,” replied Aseneith, recognizing a well 
known number of that same monthly. 

“ This article,” continued Hector, “ is on the Future Fiction 
of America ; and, I think, is very masterly in style and reason- 

“ Indeed I ” laughed Aseneith, with a sly twinkle in her eye. 
“ I fear, Mr. Ormandoff, its power will be lost upon an unrea- 
soning, illogical woman. Spare me, please, the mental weari- 
ness of trying to comprehend so deep a subject I ” 

Just then, her tell-tale note-book fell from her lap to the 
ground; and as Hector gallantly stooped to pick it up, the. 
leaves were lying open, and his eyes caught the startling head- 


142 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


ing Future Fiction of America.’’ With a questioning glance 
he turned to Aseneith, Avho with blushing cheeks, but merry 
eyes, bent down to grasp the betraying book. Their hands 
met on its pages ; and simultaneously raising their eyes, their 
glances met ; — and then, they smiled ; and Aseneith burst forth 
into a bright gay laugh, exclaiming : 

The masquerade is over ! ” 

While Hector retorted : The wiles of witching woman 

would cause alarm, if man was not sure that she was an angel ! 
You are that learned unknown, whom we poor men have been 
admiring ! ” Then after a slight pause, he added : “ Miss 
Allan, I said to Toy, if a woman as beautiful as you are could 
have originated such fine and lofty thoughts, I would believe 
in woman’s utmost intellectual possibilities. I will not retract 
a word. Can you ever pardon my arrogant, blind ignorance. 

Miss Allan, enough to grant me your esteem, and^ ?” but 

Hector’s blustering loquacity failed him, and he was silent. 

Aseneith kindly answered : “ I cannot blame you, Mr. 

Ormandoff. No wonder that gentlemen have doubted woman’s 
wisdom ! For, until lately, if a woman was not positively 
ugly, she seemed to think, that the charms of her pretty 
face might be marred by disclosing the fact that she dared 
to think. And though I am not very old, even I can remem- 
ber, when it was thought pedantic for a woman to converse 
upon any literature deeper than poetry and fiction. But as 
the Yankee idea of a smart woman is being rapidly replaced 
by the more refined modern type, which is described by the 
English word ‘ clever ; ’ and Webster defines ‘cleverness’ to 
mean ‘possessing talent, or skill;’ whereas ‘smartness’ is 
only being ‘keen, and sharp, or witty,’ — which even fools 
can play at ; so the present clever woman, has already 
been awarded the gift of talent ; and talent persevered in, 
has been defined as genius.” No need to play indifferent 
now ! — and the girl’s eyes flashed, and her indolent pose was 
quickly changed to one of alertness, as she added, with an earn- 
est vibration thrilling through her well-modulated voice : “In 
these days, woman’s place in the world is bounded only by her 
own capabilities and highest possible development. In benev- 
olent and missionary enterprises, she has long taken the lead. 
Now, literature, music, art, science, medicine, metaphysics, 
theology and trade, are open to her ambition ; and to every 
woman comes the stirring question : What can 1 make of my 
own life f ” 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


i43 


Roused now from her former assumed manner of frivolous 
femininity, Aseneith Allan seemed a new creature. The dia- 
mond hashes in her eyes became dazzling ; and her beauty was 
now etherealized by her genius, until her entire being seemed 
instinct with magnetic force. 

Hector was completely fascinated; not only by her beauty 
of face, but the glimpse he had gained of the beauty of her 
mind, which rendered him eager to hear more of her exalted 
thoughts. As she prepared to gather up her books, as tiiough 
intending to end this delightful tete-cL-tete •, Hector quickly 
resolved to detain her yet longer if possible, and politicly 
selected a subject which he conjectured would be of sufficient 
interest to accomplish his object. 

“ As you have handled the subject of American fiction so 
ably, in this article. Miss Allan,” he said, throwing himself back 
in his seat, with an evident manner of continuing the conversa- 
tion, “ I would like to learn some of your views regarding' some 
English novelists and writers. What is your opinion regard- 
ing the types of women as portrayed by George Eliot? ” 

A look of inspiration illumined the expressive face of Ase- 
neith Allan, as she responded : “ In no way does one get so 
clear an insight into the subtle and gradual stages of soul- 
poisoning, which, in the course of years, changed the deep 
heart- searching belief of George Eliot into the dreary mate- 
rialistic doctrine of positivism, as by carefully and thoroughly 
analyzing the different phases of life and action, and their mo- 
tive force, as they are depicted in those powerfully portrayed 
types of womanhood, ‘ Janet Dempster,’ ‘ Dinah Morris,’ ‘Mag. 
gie Tulliver,* ‘ Esther Lyon,’ ‘ Rombla,’ and ‘ Gwendolen.’ 
No one will deny the exalted genius of George Eliot. Her in- 
sight into human nature partook almost of the supernatural. 
In her earlier writings, one feels the keen surgical touch of 
the intellect ; but one also listens to the beating of the human 
heart, throbbing with vital religious convictions, such as are 
only reached by a human soul who acknowledges the saving 
efficacy of a crucified Redeemer.” 

“ I think,” rejoined Hector, “ that in her later writings, that 
heart seems benumbed by the terrible pressure of an awful 
unrest, leaving to the intellect alone the work of dissecting 
poor human nature. And though the mental scalpel has, per- 
haps, a keener edge, it cuts tlie tendons of the motives and 
feelings of our spiritual bodies, with the cold precision and half- 
mocking severity of the purely scientific surgeon.” 


i44 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


Aseneith’s face was aglow with interest, and her entire pose 
was alert with magnetic vitality. She no longer idly toyed with 
a rose, but gazed toward the river ; not with an expression of 
sentimental reverie, but with a flashing eye, and flushed cheek, 
which betokened the thrill stirring her soul, as she said : 

“ Man may have genius and scepticism, and still remain, 
perchance, an intellectual giant ; but a woman of genius with- 
out religion^ is an intellectual monstrosity.” 

“ 1 agree with you,” replied Hector, casting a fascinated 
glance upon the face of the earnest girl beside him. Then he 
added : “ Which of the types of womanhood portrayed by 
George Eliot, do you consider the finest ? ” 

Aseneith turned her eyes from the river and fixed them for 
a moment upon a fleecy cloud resting like a pillow of down in 
the vaulted azure, as she answered : 

‘‘Viewed from a spiritual, not sesthetical standpoint, the 
highest type of womanhood in all the writings of George Eliot, 
belongs, without doubt, to the character, of ‘ Dinah Morris.’ 
One might almost say, that nowhere, in the realms of fiction, 
can be found her equal as a purely spiritual type of woman’s 
most exalted nature. She possesses the genius of self sacrifice, 
and is truly apostolic in her self-negation. She stands forth 
as the embodiment of pure and undefiled religion. She could 
not have been originated by any soul in which the influence of 
the true gospel of Jesus Christ was not felt to be the highest 
motive power by which a human life could be directed. That 
such w^as the belief of George Eliot, at the time of writing 
‘ Adam Bede,’ has been proved to be the correct inference, by 
means of the letters lately discovered to be in the possession 
of a grandson of an aunt of the authoress ; which aunt, Eliza- 
beth Evans, is said to be the model for the character of ‘ Dinah 
Morris.’ These letters, written to this aunt by George Eliot, 
are pervaded by strong and deep religious sentiments. No 
soul paralyzed with doubt and unbelief, could have put into 
the mouth of another, such living Gospel truths as may be 
found’ in the wmrds of ‘ Dinah Morris.’ No author could have 
embodied such deep and holy truth in language, or have dared 
to quote such solemn w^ords from Hely Writ, without a deep 
sense of their awful reality.” 

“ Yes,” responded Hector, “ a person may be a hypocrite 
iq life ; but, in spite of one’s self, the deepest emotions of the 
soul wdll make themselves knowm in one’s wu-itings ; and poor 
George Eliot is no exception, but rather proves the rule ; for 


A MORAL inheritance. 


HS 


as her religious beliefs changed to intellectual speculation, just 
so did her writings lose their vital force — vital as regards the 
soul, not the intellect. How do you compare George Eliot with 
other English writers, Miss Allan?” ' 

‘‘ George Eliot may well be classed with Scott, Thackeray, 
Dickens, and even with Shakespeare,” replied Aseneith ; and 
in the types of womanhood depicted by her, she outranks them 
all ; and, in the types of manhood, only Shakespeare can be 
said to far outrank her. But Shakespeare’s women partook too 
much of the shrewish and grotesque type ; and though a 
‘ Portia,’ ‘ Desdemona,’ ‘ Cornelia,’ * Imogen,’ and ‘ Juliet,’ 
stand out in shining light ; the age in which he wrote, though 
fitted to make strong and mighty men, was still too near those 
times when women, were yet considered as subordinate to men, 
in both heart and intellect ; and when it was thought more 
meet that a woman should be ruled by a bad man — be that 
man father, husband, brother, or king — than that she should 
follow the dictates of her own conscience.” 

“ That is a discriminating judgment. Miss Allan ; and I 
would add,^ that though many of the female characters in Sir 
Walter Scott’s novels are most pleasing and picturesque, they 
seem to belong too much to the age of chivalrous knights and 
fair ladies of legendary lore, to stand as types of flesh and 
blood. And though Thackeray’s ‘ Becky Sharpe,’ is a pitiably 
true type of a bad woman, and ‘ pity ’tis, ’tis true ; ’ we can 
hardly consider her as a great type of womanhood, unless 
greatness consists only in smart wickedness. His moral females 
stand more truly as types of the portraits of Sir Joshua Rey- 
nolds, with flowing damask tunics, and quilted satin petticoats, 
and powdered wigs, and political party patches, than as types 
of living women outside of canvass and gilt frames. What do 
you think of Dickens’ women ? ” 

Dickens’ women, ’tis true, live and breathe, and have their 
being ; ” answered Aseneith, with the merry twinkle sparkling 
in her eyes; “but again, they are shrewish women, sour 
women, saucy women, slovenly women, snappish women, snif- 
fling women, women indeed common enough, but not just the 
kind we would pick out for a grand type of woman to call our 
ideal.” 

“ I heartily agree with you,” rejoined Hector, laughing ; 
“ your list of adjectives in S, porti ays a graphic picture of the 
undesirable type of women. I think Dickens himself could 
scarcely have penned that sentence with more scathing satire.”, 

iO 


146 


A MORAL INMLRITANCE. 


‘‘ His ‘ Little Nell/ and ‘ Florence/ ’’ resumed Aseneitli, 
‘‘ are as sweet and lovely bits of womanhood as one would 
want to dream of ; but they are only women in miniature. But 
he has drawn one piece of womankind with a masterly stroke ; 
and sweet, quaint, trusting, womanly, motherly ‘ Dot,’ stands 
for all our highest thoughts of mother, sister, and wife. In 
whatever else men may have the pre-eminence, it is probable 
that the truest types of womanhood will always be portrayed 
by women.” 

“Yes, that is true!” said Hector. “Man can describe 
accurately her faults of speech, and gait, and temper ; can, for- 
sooth, do greater justice to her beauty and her follies ; but her 
higher emotions, her inmost secret self, can be depicted only by 
one who experiences^ not conjectures^ 

The sun was slowly sinking in the west, down toward the 
waters of the river, which flowed below the grassy liill upon 
which the arbor was erected. It was a dainty bit of landscape 
which lay before them. Such a view is always inspiring to 
mental activity. Those who possess the gift of talking well, 
are always at their best when nature adds her magnetic influ- 
ences to their soul’s inspiration. There could hardly be 
imagined two more diverse pictures than Aseneith Allan, with 
distasteful pug dog, and trashy novel ; and the brilliant girl, 
with the fire of genius darting from her eyes, and the soul of 
an heroic woman shining in their unfathomed depths. 

Hector Ormandoff was entranced with the marvelous trans- 
formation, and was enthralled by the witchery of her peerless 
personality. When one gains such a friend as Aseneith Allan, 
one has received one of life’s most precious treasures. Such a 
woman, by her very superiority, shames anything belittling in 
one’s self, and calls forth the highest powers of one’s nature. 

Hector, loth to lose so rare an opportunity, inquired : “How 
would you describe some of the other types of women portrayed 
by George Eliot ? ” 

“ In ‘ Janet Dempster ’ and ^ Esther Lyon,’ particularly the 
latter,” answered Aseneith, “ the aBsthetic taste is more appeal- 
ed to than in the portraiture of ‘ Dinah Morris ; ’ though in 
both ‘ Esther ’ and ‘ Janet,’ the spiritual nature stands forth as 
of pre-eminent importance. The gradual ennobling of a highly 
aesthetical sensibility, by the overshadowing influence of an 
e:^alted religious ideal, is grandly brought out in the character 
of ‘ Esther Lyon.’ ” 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. I47 

“Do you not think ‘ Maggie Tulliver/ possesses more of 
genius, Miss Allan ? 

“ Yes,’’ responded Aseneith. “ She possesses more of 
genius, and also more of human imperfections. She is every 
inch a woman ; a very faulty one, ’tis true, but not the wicked 
faultiness of a ‘Becky Sharpe;’ no worldly devilish cunning, 
but rather the faultiness of an immature child, capable of 
grand development. A child of only thirteen years of age, 
who would try to still the longings of a famished heart and 
ambitious mind with the quaint and holy teachings of Thomas 
a Kempis, must possess much of inherent goodness, even 
though inconsistently headstrong and peevish. And a girl, 
who, in her fresh bouyant youth, could put from her a great 
temptation for which her heart was yearning ; and choose the 
path of humility, which her own wavering had already sown 
with thorns, saying, ‘ Faithfulness and constancy mean some- 
thing else beside doing what is easiest and pleasantest to our- 
selves. They mean renouncing whatever is opposed to the 
reliance others have in us, whatever would cause misery to 
those whom the course of our lives has made dependent on us ; ’ 
—such a character, had death spared it to reach full maturity, 
could consistently and logically have developed only into a 
grand and noble woman.” 

“ What do you think of ‘ Romola ’ and ‘ Gwendolen,’ Miss 
Allan ? ” 

“In the characters of ‘Bomola’ and ‘Gwendolen,’ George 
Eliot unconsciously lays bare her own spiritual barrenness. 
The subtle poisons of intellectual speculations had already 
sapped her spiritual strength. In spite of one’s self, an author 
can at no time of life originate a character above one’s own 
ideal ; and that ideal is always consequent upon, and drawn 
from, one’s own highest nature.” 

“It is a true saying,” rejoined Hector, “‘ Show me a man’s 
ideal, and I will tell you what the man is himself.’ A person 
may lead a sham religious, hypocritical life; but one cannot 
originate a high religious ideal out of a soul blinded with false 
speculative opinions, no matter how powerful the imagination, 
nor how keen the intellect. A person may write an impartial 
history, and be a sceptic ; he may be a brilliant essayist, and 
keep many of his candid opinions to himself ; he may be an 
immortal poet, and yet live a dissi|)ated life ; he may portray 
the life of nature, and yet hide his own spiritual deadness. 
But to originate an ideal character, the author, in spite of 


t4& 


A MOI^AL IIVIIEJ^ITAAT^, 


himself, infuses into it his own heart ’s-blood ; and he cannot 
describe a more lioly nature than he himself could conceive of.’^ 
“ This applies as well in religion as in fiction,” said Aseneith, 
with deepening solemnity in her voice, and a spiritual light 
shining in her eyes, which gave a very different expression to 
those dark orbs from the diamond scintillations called forth by 
merely intellectual delight. This spiritual light filled their 
glowing depths with an effulgent glory, which bespoke the sen- 
sitive response of her nature to every holy thought. ‘‘ We 
cannot conceive of the spotless holiness of God ; therefore, we 
cannot describe — only declare it.” 

“ What do you think of the character of ‘ Komola ’ ? ” asked 
Hector, observing the exalted expression of the girPs face, with 
half wonder, and intense admiration. 

“ In ‘ Romola’s ’ character,” replied Aseneith, one catches 
now and then, an echo of an exalted strain of feeling, like a 
half-forgotten melody, or the whispering of an ^olian harp- 
string, just touched by the slightest zephyr. Intellectually, she 
is a strong type of womanhood, appealing with overwhelming 
force to our highest aesthetical sentiments ; but, morally, she is 
most lamentably weak ; not in any earthly sense, for she is the 
emblem of exalted purity, but in a spiritual sense.” 

I acknowledge that she is capable of the grandest possibil- 
ities,” rejoined Hector, “ but she possesses the goodness of the 
self-exalting Pharisee. ’Tis the coldness of the Stoic, the 
proud self-conscious perfection of a heathen goddess ; not the 
loving, beating heart of a living woman.” 

‘‘ I agree with you there,” said Aseneith. When she 
might have gained an overpowering influence for good over her 
worldly, selfish, deceitful husband ; she envelops herself in 
proud, disdainful indifference, and crushes the sproutings of his 
better nature beneath the weight of her stony silence.” 

Her husband, to be sure, was most contemptible,” respond- 
ed Hector. He \f^as the epitome of selfish arrogance and un- 
principled ambition. But, bad men have been moved by 
woman’s love and gentleness,” he continued, with a persuasive 
cadence to his voice. 

“And < Janet Dempster,’” exclaimed Aseneith, eagerly, 
could willingly — yes, longingly — return to minister to a brutal 
husband, who had beaten her in drunken anger, and turned her 
out of doors ; for her soul was exalted by a true conception of 
the power and reality of Christ’s self-sacrificing forgiveness ; 
while ‘ Rornola,’ wrapping herself in icy, scornful silence, flees 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


149 


from a husband who has failed to conform to her lofty ideas ; 
and, being sent back by a priest, whose religion she conceives 
to be only bigotry and superstition, she apparently makes no 
effort to ennoble the character of her husband.’^ 

“ And when afterwards,’’ rejoined Hector, ‘‘ she again takes 
refuge in flight, and ministers to the pestilence-stricken villa- 
gers, ’tis with the cowardly desire of meeting her own death — 
that cowardice of the suicide, who flees from the life he has 
not the greatness of soul to endure.” 

“’Tis pitiful, indeed,” said Aseneith, “ that the same George 
Eliot, who, in ‘ Mill on the Floss,’ could say, ‘ Joy and peace 
are not resignation ; resignation is the willing endurance of a 
pain that is not allayed, that you don’t expect to be allayed 
it is a pity, such a George Eliot could not have drawn from her 
own spiritual life and belief, any stronger motive to impel the 
life of the intellectual and assthetical ‘ Romola,’ when troubles 
overtook her, than the cowardice of suicide ; and must leave 
her to pass from pur vision, with the saddening, hopeless feel- 
ing, borne in upon our own consciousness, that she is wailing 
forth the doubtful cry : ‘Perhaps religion is not bigotry ! Per- 
haps all beliefs are not superstitions ! ’ ” 

“ In the character of ‘ Gwendolen,’ ” said Hector, ‘‘ one per- 
ceives the same want of a vital belief as the impelling force of 
action. Standing for a more modern type of womanhood 
than ‘ Rornola,’ but if anything, worse off than she, in a spirit- 
ual sense ; for she had not even the traditions of the gods and 
goddesses, to help inspire her with noble aspiration^” 

“1 agree with you,” responded Aseneith. “ ’Tis better for 
a soul to believe in the greatness of a Jupiter, than to be cen- 
tred in self alone ! Poor ‘ Gwendolen ’ ! Capable of such 
grandeur of noble purposes ! One feels all tlie time that such 
a soul could be lifted to high peaks of aspiration ; but we 
leave her on a petty mound in the chain of spiritual moun- 
tain-heights.” 

“ ‘ Rornola ’ and ‘ Gwendolen,’ ” said Hector, “ with all their 
possibilities, reach only the first step outside of self, and look 
to a ‘ Savonarola,’ and a ‘ Daniel Deronda,’ — helpless mortals 
like themselves — for that spiritual lielp and power which the 
finite can obtain only from the InfiniteP 

Aseneith gazed over the river with a dreamy expression of 
face, as she murmured, in thrilling tones which powerfully 
stirred the better nature of Hector Orman doff, as he listened 
with deep emotion : “ Poor, great-souled, great-brained George 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


150 

Eliot ! 'When death had closed her earthly vision, there was found 
upon a table, by the side of her lifeless body, a book lying open. 
Not dreary, benumbing, speculative philosophies; but the lioly 
writings of Thomas a Kempis, were chosen by her as a solace 
in those last hours. And, perchance, with her ideal spirit-child, 
‘Maggie Tulliver,’ still hovering before her mental vision, 
she sought soul comfort and spiritual rest with the same quaint, 
saintly advice of the old monk, with which she had herself 
stilled the unrest — the wild questioning heart of the child of her 
own imagination : 

“ ‘ Why dost thou here gaze about, since this is not the place 
of thy rest? In heaven ought to be thy dwelling, and all 
earthly things are to be looked on as they forward thy journey 
thither. All things pass away, and thou together with them.' 
Beware thou cleave not unto them, lest thou be entangled, and 
perish. If a man should give all of his substance, yet it is as 
nothing. And if he should do great penances, yet are they 
but little. And if he should attain to all knowledge, he is yet 
far off. And if he should be of great virtue, and very fervent 
devotion, yet is there much wanting ; to wit, one thing, which is 
most necessary for him. What is that? That having left all, 
he leave himself, and go wholly out of himself, and retain noth- 
ing of self-love. ... I have often said unto thee, and now 
again, I say the same, forsake thyself, resign thyself, and thou 
shalt enjoy much inward peace. . . . Then shall all vain imag- 
inations, evil perturbations, and superfluous cares fly away; 
then shall immoderate fear leave thee, and inordinate love shall 
die. . . . Blessed are those ears that receive the whispers of 
the Divine Voice, and listen not to the whisperings of the 
world. Blessed are those ears which liarken not unto the voice 
which soundeth outwardly, but unto the Truth which teacheth 
inwardly.' " 

Meanwhile, the tired sun slowly sank to rest beneath the 
crimsoned waters of the river, and as he “ wrapped the drapery 
of his couch about him/' he wove cloud-tapestries of gorgeous 
hues and patterns ; resplendent as the scarlets, golds, and pur- 
ples of tlie rainbow ; until the whole western horizon glowed 
like a radiant Bow of Promise, ablaze with effulgent glory, 
and transplendent with dazzling tints of myriad hues. And 
then the glorious vision gently faded into softest tints of light 
lemon, and pale rose, flecked here and there with opal lights, 
and illumined with dashes of white, like ocean's foam, shading 
to misty green, spreading out into a deeper tone of the same 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


ISI 

color, like some aerial Nile ; while the restless river beneath, 
shimmered with tints of darkest blue, like remembered glimpses 
of the Mediterranean, beneath the glowing skies of Italy, 
And then the full-orbed moon gleamed like a shield of silver 
in the sky, casting a dreamy light o’er all the landscape, and 
flooding tlie arbor with her radiant rays, as Hector and Ase- 
iieith sat silent for a moment, enthralled by the witching 
beauty of the scene. 

Presently Aseneith rose to return to the house, and Hector 
gathering up her books, escorted her to the veranda, where 
Antoinette awaited her. As Toy glanced at the titles of the 
books, she merrily whispered to Aseneith : 

Oh, Neith, dear! I fear you have betrayed us! ” 

That evening, at the dinner-table, Hector made .this remark . 
for the enlightenment of the company : 

As I’ve secured the favor of the goddess Neith, you 
other fellows may try to win the smiles of her attendant maid- 
ens ! ” 

Why, really, Master Hector,” cried Antoinette, because 
the Goddess of Intellect has smiled on you, you need not take 
it for granted that other women are to be disposed of in any 
such wholesale style. Neith, dear, you’ve conquered, I see ! 
Bravo ! Our cause is safe ! My theories are proved ! Lu- 
cille ! Eulalie ! — Let us rejoice together I Our intellects are 
vindicated, for lordly Hector is vanquished ! ” 


152 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


» 


CHAPTER X. 

A YOUTH stood eager, at the world’s great gate 
And gazed forth yearningly, lest he be late 
To seize the prize, to win the coming race ; 

To make himself a name, and gain the place. 

The Master stood beside, and softly said : 

“ Beware, rash youth ! by patience now be led.” 

’ “ What! wait?” exclaimed the youth, “ and let them by? 

If they can join the race, pray, why not I ? ” 

“ I do not mean to wait in idle ease,” 

Replied the Seer. “ Let work thy zeal appease ; 

Work persevered in, will the end attain 
More surely than thy soaring spirit’s pain ! ” 

Patience and perseverance are the rules 
Which grant the prize to wise men, not to fools ; 

And when the gift is offered ; — then ’tis Pluck, 

That seizes on the prize, and brings the luck. 

But summer vacations are soon passed, and the grim tussle 
of earning one’s livelihood by the sweat of one’s brow, again 
met Hector Ormandoff. As if to test the strength of his 
manly purposes, circumstances seemed to combine to erect ob* 
Stacies in his pathway. A young lawyer in great London, has 
an uphill road to travel. Hector had resolved that his mother 
and sister, in their quiet country home, should know as little 
as possible of his hard struggles. He had hoped that his 
father’s attorneys, who had received for past services, large 
sums from the Ormandoff estate, would materially aid him in 
his chosen profession. But beyond cold advice, they did not 
appear to consider themselves obligated. It is astonishing 
how speedily the majority of men feel all obligations cease 
when fortunes are falling, when the same men interested 
themselves with pertinacity v/hen family estates were flour- 
ishing. 

Hector Ormandoff had returned to his bachelor quarters 
in London, and the party of friends who had spent those pleas- 
ant weeks together in his mother’s home, were scattered. 
Aseneith Allen and Eulalie Everard had sailed for America* 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


153 


Lucille Fielding was still with Antoinette Ormandoff, but the 
doctor and professor had returned to their respective vocations ; 
while Edgar Lewellyn, finding himself intensely fascinated 
with Eulalie Everard, determined to visit her native America, 
and try and win her for his wife. 

Hector Ormandoff was forced to acknowledge to himself, 
that not only the beauty, but the mental superiority, and the 
noble character of Aseneith Allan had fascinated him more 
than woman had ever charmed him before. But in his present 
restricted circumstances, he deemed it unwise to make known 
to her his deep sentiments of admiring love. Aseneith Allan 
would not have been daunted by straitened means, or the pos- 
sibility of personal self-sacrifices; but would rather glory in 
being able to thus manifest her proud devotion. She admired 
and respected Hector Ormandoff, the struggling young lawyer ; 
while she would have felt contempt for Hector Ormandoff*, the 
pleasure-seeking, Parisian exquisite. His plain London apart- 
ments would have pleased her far better than his luxuriously 
furnished quarters on the gay boulevard ; not that she was not 
an intense lover of beauty, and beautiful environments ; but 
the unselfish character evinced by the one, would have com- 
manded her esteem ; while the indolent habits, and wasted tal- 
ents represented by the other, w^ould have occasioned her pity- 
ing indifference. 

Hector Ormandoff had pondered much more over his moral 
inheritance, than over his lost ancestral estates. The picture 
of evil revealed by his grandfather^s direful diary, had terrified 
him; and had caused him to observe with shuddering alarm, 
the evidences in his own nature, of even slight tendencies to- 
ward any similarity of character between himself and old Ivan 
Ormandoff. 

As his study of Traducianism, had invested the subject of 
heredity with such solemn and awful consequences ; he blessed 
God, with deepening thankfulness, that his father's and his own 
Christian and heroic maternal ancestry, had so far counter- 
acted the ignoble tendencies of inherited evil. But he did not 
weakly ascribe his own detected faults of character to an ill- 
fated destiny, nor seek to shirk his individual responsibility re- 
garding his own thoughts and acts. He wu\s sometimes 
tempted to despair when he realized that he had been over- 
mastered from time to time, by some temptation, when he had 
supposed himself invulnerable to certain special attacks ; but 
these experiences only strengthened his firm resolve to obtain 


154 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


the victory in the end, and to become the master of his will , 
while he deemed it no ignoble bondage, to be the slave of 
his conscience. 

He had not yet fully learned the lesson of spiritual success * 
That though man possesses free will to choose, yet the Spirit 
of God, working through the human will, though it does not 
coerce, does influence toward right choices ; for God worketh 
in man ‘‘to will and to do of His good pleasure.’’ “Our 
grand business is, not to see what lies dimly at a distance, but 
to do what lies clearly at hand.” 

“ Think that day lost whose low descending sun * 

Views from thy hand no noble action done ! ” 

Hector Ormandoff was willing to act, and act bravely ; but 
so far as his worldly prospects were concerned, it appeared to 
be more a matter of waiting, than of acting. This is often 
the hardest test of character — to wait; and still to work, and 
do the huinble duty nearest to the hand, when seemingly the 
momentous wellbeing of our future hangs balancing upon the 
passing moment. This is a crucial test to one of high ambi- 
tion. But darker experiences than even tired toiling, or weary 
waiting, confronted Hector Ormandoff. 

Few had been his clients as yet, and small their remunera- 
tion for arduous labor performed. For the barrister of repu- 
tation can demand two hundred pounds, and get it easily, and 
as a matter of course, for the same legal paper for which the 
young attorney can only expect to receive twenty pounds. 

One day there was a knock at the door of Hector Ormandoff s 
law office. 

“ Come in ! ” cried the young man, expecting a messenger- 
boy, or his janitor. To his surprise, a lady entered ; and to 
his still greater surprise, he quickly recognized his visitor. 

“ Why, Mademoiselle Blanche ! ” he exclaimed, with mixed 
feelings of annoyance and astonishment. “ How came you 
in London?” 

“ Madame Whorton, if you please,” retorted the lady, 
laughing, as she carelessly continued : “ Yes, I was fool enough 
to marry Will Whorton, though I am free to confess, his 
money was his only attraction ; but little enough I’ve seen of 
his money since that day, and then he must needs take himself 
off in such an uncomfortable manner, and not a pound have I 
received from the estate.” 

“ Js Will dead ? ” asked Hector, gazing with repugnancy 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 155 

upon the .faded beauty of the woman he had thought suffi- 
ciently charming to fritter away some of his past hours. 

‘‘ Oh, yes ! ’’ replied Madame Whorton, heartlessly. “ He 
tired of life, and ended it with a pistol. Pity he couldn’t have 
taken some less notorious means ! It made any amount of 
talk, and his relations even went so far as to insinuate that I 
was not free from blame.” 

Hector recalled with a shudder his last parting with Will 
Whorton, and his careless prophecy. The presence of his 
unwelcome visitor was very disagreeable, but he politely asked 
her what her errand was. 

‘‘ Well, you see,” she said, I am determined to receive my 
rightful share of the Whorton estate. As I was informed 

O 

that you had become a lawyer, I made free to come to you, — 
to take my case for old acquaintance’ sake,” she added. 

Hector felt his face hot with indignation and shame. Shame, 
that the folly of his past life should thus beset him ; indigna- 
tion, at the bold heartlessness of the woman. Of course, her 
claims as Will’s wife might be just in the eyes of the law, 
which does not always take cognizance of the character of the 
claimant; and as Will had married her, Hector felt somewhat 
constrained to see that she obtained her wife’s dower. Disa- 
greeable as was the prospect before him, after becoming thor- 
oughly convinced that she was legally Will Whorton’s wife, 
he agreed to take her case. 

We need not linger over the details of the ensuing lawsuit. Suf- 
fice it to say, that Hector was forced to experience many humiliat- 
ing annoyances as a result of his past unfortunate acquaintance 
with a woman of her reckless, evil character. But he little 
imagined the wicked designs of her seemingly plausible renewal 
of his acquaintanceship. Many times, during those unpleasant 
weeks he was forced to devote to her legal case, did the noble 
character of Aseneith Allan rise like a vision of enchanting 
loveliness before his mind ; and with deep humiliation did he 
deplore that he could ever, even for a moment, have been at- 
tracted by so weak, selfish, and ignoble a woman as Blanche 
Whorton. Will Whorton’s fate might, peradventure, have 
been his own, but for an intervening Providence, which had 
mercifully overruled his destiny. How he blessed God now 
for the stings of remorse whicli liad so constantly beset him in 
his wild career, and for his vigilant conscience which had not 
allow^ed him to be utterly reckless in his follies as poor Will 
had been. He felt sure that his mother’s prayers had held 


156 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


liim, even when his mad folly was threatening to wreck his 
life and his character. 

Notwithstanding his present repugnance to Madame Whor- 
ton, Hector Ormandoff was faithful to his professional duty, 
and won the case in her favor, as her claims were legally just. 
But little he imagined the bitter reward he would receive for 
his wearying labors! 

When the case was decided, Madame Whorton, with many 
protestations of thanks, sent to Hector Ormandoff the modest 
sum lie had charged for his professional work ; and Hector 
heaved a sigh of relief, as he supposed that this would end his 
disagreeable encounters with Blanche Whorton. 

The day after his reception of his remuneration for his legal 
services from Madame Whorton, all London was startled by 
the report of a daring and puzzling bank robbery. Hector 
read the press accounts with rather idle curiosity, paying no 
attention to the statement that several of the fifty and twenty 
pound bills had been privately marked by the bank, and might 
lead to the discovery of the robbers. 

That very day, Hector Ormandoff went to deposit the sum 
he had received as his fee in the Whorton case, at his usual 
bank of deposit. Within a few hours after this transaction, 
Hector was surprised at the sight of officers of the law" enter- 
ing his office, who bluntly informed him that he W"as under 
arrest for the recent bank robbery. In vain were his protesta- 
tions of innocence. He was informed that the bills just depos- 
ited by him, had been recognized as some of the marked bills 
belonging to the robbed bank. Instantly Hector recognized 
the grave aspect, if not hopelessness, of his case. Blanche 
Whorton had doubtless been an accomplice to the robbery, and 
to screen herself, had sent the marked bills to him as his pro- 
fessional remuneration. It w"ould take w-eary weeks to prove 
his innocence, even if that were possible under the unfortunate 
circumstances. 

Hector w-as confronted with the terrible dilemma of accus- 
ing a seeming lady, and former acquaintance, with an atrocious 
crime ; (which accusation even might not be accepted as a 
proof of his ow"n innocence under the circumstances); or 
silently bearing the hopeless ignominy of so grave a charge, 
and probably being forced to undergo the unmerited penalty. 
Considering the reckless character of the w'oman, he concluded 
that the silent sacrifice of his own prospects, and of his char- 
acter as well, in public opinion, was not demanded of him ; 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


157 


but that it was his duty to clear himself, if possible, from the 
awful and false accusation. His statement regarding the 
deposited bills was received with much incredulity by the de- 
frauded bank authorities ; but they agreed to allow him his 
liberty, under heavy bail, until the case should be fully ex- 
amined. As Hector had made warm friends by his manly 
efforts since his failing fortunes, several of them offered him 
the required means, which under the circumstances, he was 
forced reluctantly to accept. 

Weary weeks now followed in harassing waiting, watching, 
and working. Blanche Whorton had disappeared from Lon- 
don, and for a time, no trace of her could be found. Bitter 
was the fruit that Hector Ormandoff was now forced to gather 
from his past folly. Though his acquaintance with Blanche in 
Paris had gone no further than his merely being WilFs com- 
panion, on a few occasions when Will was flirting with the 
pretty, but unprincipled Blanche ; as ‘‘ evil communications 
corrupt good manners,” so evil associations, though encount- 
ered only for a time, will write their indelible record in a life’s 
history. Though his present circumstances were occasioned by 
events beyond his control, had Hector never made the ac- 
quaintance of Blanche in . Paris, the probabilities were that she 
would not have chanced to light upon him as her victim in 
London, had he been an entire stranger to her. 

For a time, he succeeded in keeping the harrowing news of 
his terrible grief from his mother and sister ; but bad news 
always travels quickly, and soon the rumor of his seeming dis- 
grace reached them. Brave Antoinette immediately wrote : 

‘‘ Don’t be discouraged. Hector, dear ! Don’t think for an 
instant that I entertain a suspicion that you could have com- 
mitted any act which was ignoble, to say nothing of such an 
absurd idea, as your being guilty of crime. Your complete in- 
nocence will surely be fully proved.” 

And his heroic mother wrote : 

‘‘ May the Lord defend you, my precious son ! Your mother 
thinks only proud and loving thoughts of you. You could not 
be your father’s son, nor the grandson of your grandfather 
Carisbrook, and be guilty of aught that would make your 
mother blush. The Lord will vindicate you ! ” 

Bless God, for my moral inheritance ! ” murmured poor 
Hector, as he read these letters with streaming eyes and com- 
forted heart. ‘‘ When my mother and sister believe so implic- 
itly in me, I can stand the false impressions of public opinion.” 


158 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


Crucial was this trial, to such a high-spirited man as Hector 
OrmandofF ; for never, in the midst of his youthful follies, had 
he committed any deed which was dishonest or contemptible. 
Casual acquaintances now turned the cold shoulder to him, 
giving him open snubbing, or cutting sarcasm. A few tried 
friends stood bravely by the side of the tortured young man, 
and declared that in spite of appearances, they believed in him. 

Added to all this woe, was the despairing thought that now 
his bright dream regarding Aseneith Allan, had forever van- 
ished. Unless his good name could be completely vindicated, 
all thoughts of her must be banished. And even should his 
innocence be proved, this cloud of suspicion which had rested 
upon him, might forever separate them from each other. 

Telegraphs, and Atlantic cables, quickly furnish London 
news to all parts of the world ; and Aseneith Allan read one 
day, with blanched face, in Niagara’s daily paper, the account 
of the robbery of the London bank. No item was omitted 
which could add to the sensation of the narrative, and Hector 
Ormandoff ’s name was branded with the terrible accusation. 

Aseneith Allan’s dark eyes blazed, as her great-grandmother’s 
had blazed in Revolutionary times. Though her cheeks were 
pale, her eyes were defiant of all the world’s false opinions. 
Although she had corresponded with Antoinette, she resolved 
to allow no second person to convey her message of allegiance. 
So she wrote to Hector three thrilling lines : 

“ I would swear to your innocence, my friend ! It would be 
simply impossible for you to commit such a deed. Though the 
whole world should declare it to be a fact, I would continue 
forever to pronounce such an accusation, a base lie. With tlie 
most implicit confidence in the complete integrity of your char- 
acter, I shall always remain your friend 1 ” 

So this brave message of the heroic girl was wafted across 
the wide ocean, and carried its holy balm of healing to the 
bruised and bleeding heart of the afilicted Hector. 

More heroic was this implicit faith in another, than even 
Margery Warren had displayed, when she followed her wound- 
ed lover out into the lonely wilderness, and with her own lips, 
sucked from his wound the poison which threatened to destroy 
his life. Ah, more bitter is the poison of false accusation ! — 
more keen is the sting of unmerited disgrace and reproach, 
winging death to the heart, than any barbed arrow piercing the 
quivering flesh ! 

Why had such a tormenting trial come to him ? He could 


A MORAL INHERITANCL, 


iS9 


more easily have faced a battery of loaded cannon on a battle- 
field, enthused with patriotic fervor, and feeling that death 
would be welcome, if it met him performing some heroic action. 
He could have more bravely endured a Christian martyr’s fate, 
exalted with the glorious arddr of dying for a holy cause. But 
braving unmerited ignominy, and false accusation, for such an 
ignoble cause as a supposed motive of criminal dishonesty ; to 
calmly wait and watch his good name, which he valued far 
more than life, being hourly bespattered with foul accusations 
of base crimes, from which his soul shrank with unutterable 
horror ; to be classed with criminals and rogues, when his lofty 
ambition had always been to climb to heights of honor and dis- 
tinction ; was indeed far worse than death. Had he been a 
moral coward, he would have been sorely tempted to eiid this 
terrible trouble by suicide. But his faith in God, and his 
mother’s words, gave him strength to fight the demon of 
despair. 

Still his soul wailed forth the maddening question, Why ? — 
Was this the necessary retribution consequent upon his past 
weakness in yielding, even for a short time, to the evil in his 
nature? Was such a crucial experience necessary to convince 
him that the wages of sin is death ” ? That the way of even 
the slight “ transgressor is hard *’ ? That a holy God demands 
holiness in human lives ? That a deed once done, forever 
leaves its impress on a life ? That youthful follies will arise as 
spectres in one’s pathway, even though they may not become 
demons of evil to grapple and destroy the character ? 

“ Where lives the man that has not tried, 

How mirth can into folly glide, 

And folly into sin ? ” 

At length the case came to trial. No trace tad been found 
of Blanche Whorton. Through the efforts of friends. Hector 
was acquitted. But his innocence was not proved, for the crim- 
inal was not discovered ; and in the eyes of many, there yet 
rested a shadow on his name. 

Still his loyal mother declared : ‘‘ The Lord will vindicate 

you yet, my son ! Take courage ! ” 

And then came another blow. Just when Hector needed 
most the encouragement of this Christian mother, death smote 
her down. Her last words to her anguished son were : 
‘‘Trust God ! All will yet be well ! 


l6o A MORAL INHERITANCE. 

Above that open grave, Hector moaned forth a still more 
despairing. Why ? ’’ — 

EARTH’S WHYS ?— HEAVEN’S WHEREFORES! 

Why ? — is the dirge of earth’s ceaseless wail, 

Centuries old, in its deathless woe I 

As piercing to-day, in its anguished tale, 

As when Egypt’s first-born was smitten low. 

Why ? — cries the mother with empty arms ; 

Why ? — moans the young widow beside her dead ; 

Why ? — sob the children, whom no mother calms ; 

Why ? — gasp the aged, with grief-bowed head. 

From every land comes this human wail ; — - 
Why are these taken, while others are left? 

Why do all efforts to save them fail ? 

Why must our hearts of all joy be bereft ? 

Why "^ — is earth’s question ; unanswered here; 

But beyond the vail which limits our sight ; 

Heaven^ s Wherefores ! — in letters of love appear ; 

And Paradise proves that God’s way was right. 

Again came a message over the sea to these stricken ones. 
Aseneith Allan wrote this time to Antoinette Ormandoff* : 
“ Will you not bless me by coming to me and giving me the 
coveted joy of claiming a sister ? ” 

As London was now unbearable to Hector, where he still met 
the cold glances of many who looked upon the injured young 
man as disgraced, he had determined to make a new home for 
himself and sister in America. As this kind invitation of 
Aseneith’s would avoid the dreaded trial of putting the wide 
ocean between himself and his now doubly prized sister, he ad- 
vised Antoinette to accept for a time the hospitality of this 
kind friend, until he should have secured for them both a home 
in some city of what should in future be their adopted country. 
As Antoinette would, in no manner, be in the least dependent 
financially upon Aseneith ; for Hector refused to accept one 
pound of the sum resulting from the sale of their English home, 
and as the modest income, which of late years had comfort- 
ably supported Mrs. Ormandoff and Antoinette, would still 
continue to be received from certain permanent investments ; 


A MOj^AL inheritance. 


i6i 

which income. Hector insisted should be entirely turned over 
to his sister ; he felt that Antoinette would in no wise be a 
burden to Aseneith Allan, but wmild find sympathy and com- 
pany in her loneliness and sorrow with this constant friend. 

Like the sunshine in the summer, breaking through the morning 
mist ; 

Like the fragrance of the roses, which the glowing rays have^ kissed ; 
Like the whiteness of the lilies, free from taint of selfish pride ; 
Like the blue of summer heavens, where God’s truth and love abide ; 
Like the deepest ocean currents, pulsing with a blissful rest ; 

Like the low notes of the organ, thrilling tones of all the best ; 

Like the soft touch of the zephyrs, cooling fevered heart and brow ; 
Like the warbling of sweet songsters, swinging on the blossoming 
bough ; 

Like the shining of bright star-gleams, breaking through the mid- 
night sky ; 

Like the glowing sun at noon-day, sailing through the heavens high ; 
Like the minist’ring hand of bounty, stretched forth for a smitten 
soul ; 

Like health pulsing through the veinlets, making suffering mortals 
whole ; 

Like all nature’s conlfcant blessings, lavished freely, without end, 

So do weary spirits, care-tossed, find soul-rest in a true friend. 

Their preparations were soon completed, and Hector and 
Antoinette sailed for America, shedding many tears of regret 
that they were forced to leave their beloved mother’s grave be- 
hind them. 

“ Then to the grave I turned me to see what therein lay ; 

’Twas the garment of the Christian, worn out and thown away. 
That once was mine ; it is not II ” 

and yet we bend with loving tenderness over the sacred spot 
wliere rest the cold, still forms of those beloved by us in life ; 
and though we know full well their souls are basking in the 
effulgent light of Paradise, that little mound of earth is elo- 
quent with hallowed memories. 

As Antoinette and Hector knelt beside that grave for the 
last time, Antoinette murmured, while a faint and chastened 
smile w^as shining through her tears : 

I never can associate such a woman as our mother with 
thoughts of death. I always find myself thinking of Easter 
morning, and sunshine, and flowers ; for her life was so infused 
with sympathetic vitality, and enthused with mental and 
n 


162 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


spiritual aspirations, and ciwned with a halo of holy thoughts, 
and ennobled and sanctified by Christly deeds ! ’’ 

Ilaving landed in America, Hector left Antoinette in the 
loving care of Aseneith Allan, and turned his face toward the 
growing West; comforted by the warm welcome he had re- 
ceived, from the noble girl whom he loved more deeply than 
ever before ; but from whom be seemed forever separated, by 
the sad circumstanceft still clouding his life. 

“ Trust God ! All will yet be well ! ’’ was echoed again and 
again by his memory, and seemed a whispered benediction from 
the spirit of his beloved mother ; and roused his fainting heart to 
new courage, and nerved his soul to fresh efibrts in the stern 
and disheartening battle of life. 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


163 


CHAPTER XI. 

The morning train on the Denver & Eio Grande railroad 
was sweeping southward through the Monument Valley, on the 
south side of what is known as the Colorado Divide. Bal- 
anced, as it were, on the summit of the range at one point, at 
an altitude of 7,208 feet, is a little lake dividing its waters 
equally between the Arkansas and the Platte rivers. Near at 
hand, is the “ Wing of the Devil’s Kitchen,” with its magnifi- 
cent natural archway. Descending the valley, one beholds 
numbers of colossal white sandstone rocks, entirely isolated, 
and sometimes reaching a height of over two hundred feet ; 
and as they are composed of layers of irregular depositions, 
they are weathered into horizontal lines, and strange, fantastic 
forms ; giving them, at a distance, quite a castellated appear- 
ance. 

The foot-hills of the grand old Rockies, seem within pleas- 
ant Avalking distance, as the eye sweeps over the intervening 
plain, and gazes upon the liigh hills covered with verdure ; and 
then up to the mountain-sides, bleak, and bare, and bluish-grey 
in tone ; up higher still, to the majestic peaks of purple-tinted 
granite; rugged, fantastic, imperial, crowned with glistening 
diadems of everlasting snow. And when the tourist is informed 
that even those green foot-hills, are many miles away, and 
that the eye takes a sweep of country, of plain, and hill, and 
mountain-peaks, of several hundred miles ; S})read out like a 
vast panorama of ever-changing views of matchless beauty, and 
awesome grandeur ; the mind begins to comprehend the majestic 
sublimity of the Rocky Mountains. 

Within one of the Pullman cars, a gentleman was seated 
near a window. As the train stopped at a small station, the 
door of the car was opened, and a traveler entered. Just at 
this moment, the gentleman seated by the window, turned his 
head away from the fascinating view upon which he had been 
gazing with evident enjoyment and appreciation ; and glancing 
at the stranger, they both involuntarily started ; then, as 
the gentleman sprang from his seat, with a smile of recogni- 
tion, the tourist exclaimed: 


164 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


“ Why, Doc., old fellow, of all things to meet you here ! ” 

“ Not any stranger than to behold you drop from the very 
clouds. Hector! Where are you bound for?’’ 

‘‘To Manitou, and Pike’s Peak ; and you, Doc? ” 

“Oh, I am pursuing my customary way to my summer resi- 
dence in Glen Eyrie,” replied Dr. Egbert Wentworth. 

“Well, of all things! living in the Rockies?” cried Hector 
Ormandoff. 

“Yes, living in the Rockies, at least part of the j^ear ; and 
now that I have found you, I shall carry you off to my glen.” 

The train started, and the two old friends sat down to con- 
tinue their conversation. 

“Well, Doc., when we were chums at Oxford, I thought tliat 
3"OU intended to settle down into the life of a humdrum practis- 
ing physician in your native America ; catching occasional 
glimpses of the world, in hasty visits to London ; and minister- 
ing to so many poor people, and out of the kindness of your 
generous heart, giving them so much of your professional skill, 
gratis, that you would always have but a poor devil’s sort of 
life. But you are surely one of fortune’s favorites, Doc. I First, 
your affectionate maiden aunt took a fancy to you, because you 
had successfully prescribed for her sick cat, and she leaves you 
a snug little fortune ; and next, I meet you at Capri, lazily sail- 
ing away your time and money, on the waters of- the Bay of 
Naples. Say, Doc., do you remember the Blue Grotto?” 

“Yes, Hector, I have truly good cause to remember that 
place, since you very nearly lost your life there by your venture- 
some curiosity.” 

“ Oh, yes, when I went on an exploring expedition over 
those underground waters, on my own account. I shall never 
forget your white face,, when I came upon you and the guide, 
peering into all the dark recesses, expecting to find an upturned 
boat, and a body minus.” 

“ Those were lazy days, indeed. Hector ! And strangely 
enough, my thoughts were ‘sailing the Yesuvian Bay,’ as I 
gazed upon these distant mountain-peaks. Perhaps I felt your 
presence by intuition, and I found myself repeating those lines ; 

“ ‘ Far, vague and dim, 

The mountains swim ; 

While on Vesuvius’ misty brim, 

With outstretched hands, 

The gray smoke stands. 

O’er looking the volcanic lands. 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


165 


Here Ischia smiles 
O’er liquid miles! 

.And yonder, bluest of the isles, 

Calm Capri waits. 

Her sapphire gates 

Beguiling to her bright estates. ” 

“ As fond of poetry as ever, Doc. ! A pbet and physician 
combined ! Strange anomaly of nature ! Science and the 
Muses clasping hands over the abysmal chasm of, grim facts! 
But tell me, Doc., do you remember the . fair lady of the 
wonderful Blue Grotto ? I have so often wondered what be- 
came of her. I have peered into numberless fair faces, during 
my wandering life, with the faint hope that I detected some 
familiar outline of figure or profile — but in vain. My search 
has proved utterly hopeless. But why do you smile, Doc., in 
that quizzical fashion ? Are you astounded at discovering this 
faint suspicion of romance in my most matter-of-fact composi- 
tion?’^ 

Not at all, Hector. But here we are at the station where 
my carriage waits for me.” 

As the two gentlemen left the train, Dr. Egbert Wentworth 
escorted his friend, Mr. Hector Orman doff, to a handsome car- 
riage drawn by two superb black horses. But a slight shade of 
disappointment passed over the face of the doctor, as he observed 
the empty carriage ; and turning to the coachman, he said : 

Why did not Mrs. Wentworth Come with you? ” 

‘‘ She bid me tell you, sir, that she was very sorry ; but that 
unexpected company from the Springs, prevented her riding to 
the station to meet you.” 

‘‘ All right, George, drive on ! ” said the doctor, and he 
again turned to his friend to point out the various interesting 
features of the wonderful landscape through which they were 
now passing. 

We cannot linger to describe minutely this weirdly beautiful 
region. Few spots on earth are so, fantastic and so fascinating 
as this Monument Valley of Colorado, in which are to be found 
those famous places, Glen Eyrie, Manitou Springs, William’s 
Canon, Rainbow Falls, and the Garden of the Gods. In the 
midst of green plains, and rolling meadows ; here, tinted with 
emerald hues ; there, yellow with golden grain ; surrounded by 
pine-clad mountains, and towering snow-capped peaks, piercing 
the sun-gilded clouds ; and in the far distance, outlining their 
pinnacled spires against a sky of such clear azure, as almost to 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


1 66 

dazzle the beholder ; until the eyes are again cast down, to 
watch the changing play of light and shadow on the wide 
sweeping plains around. 

Then, as we approach nearer to the Eocky Eange, and enter 
tlie region of strange rock formations, which in different locali- 
ties are known as Monument Park, Glen Eyrie, and the Gar- 
den of the Gods; we are constantly confronted by some new 
glimpse of these curiously eroded sandstone rocks, which tower 
from one hundred to three hundred feet above the roadway ; 
sculptured by a peculiar process of weathering, into most 
marvelous and fantastic forms. 

Here is a great wall of bright red sandstone, three hundred 
feet high ; the north end of which, with its towers and pin«- 
nacles, strikingly resembles a cathedral. Through the centre 
of this wall is a huge gateway, two hundred feet wide, leading 
to the Garden of the Gods. Here are isolated masses of rock, 
of the same prevailing character ; broken, and thrown into end- 
less varieties of form aiid outline. Far in the distance, the 
purple mountains form the horizon ; while around you, rise 
vast columns of bare rocks ; some red, some brown, others 
cream color, or of a peach-bloom shade ; in all fantastic shapes, 
as though partly carved by some titanic sculptor, and left un- 
finished through some grim freak. 

Passing through this famous spot, which caused Hector to 
exclaim again and again, in surprised delight at its surpassing 
fascination. Dr. Wentworth and Hector Ormandoff entered the 
picturesque gorga in the Eockies known as Glen Eyrie. Here 
Dr. Wentworth had erected a quaint and inviting villa, at tlie 
foot of a huge red rock, which towered like a guardian sentinel, 
one hundred feet above it. 

As the carriage approached the gorge. Hector exclaimed in 
delight ; ‘‘ What a curious and picturesque gateway ! ” 

This gateway was made of large pine knots, just as they 
were cut from the trees. The bark was peeled from the knots, 
and they were twisted together in a most grotesque manner. 
Having passed this unique portal, and a pretty porter’s lodge, 
the road wound through young oak groves, and over rustic 
bridges, spanning dashing mountain rivulets ; then through 
narrow gorges, lined with broken rocks on either side, so 
varied and so rich in coloring, that it would require all the 
tints of an artist’s palette to reproduce their strange and pleas- 
ing hues. 

Perhaps nowhere else can so great a variety, and such bril, 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 1 6 / 

liant tones of rock-color, be found, as in this famous district of 
Colorado. 

Hector cried enthusiastically : “You dear old Doc. ! For- 
tune has again displayed her partiality for you, by bringing you 
to such a paradise of beauty and grandeur!’’ 

But they had now arrived at the picturesque villa, so cosily 
snuggled amidst the rugged recesses of the Rockies. As they 
alighted from the carriage, a lady stood at the open doorway 
to receive them; and as Hector glanced toward her, his habit- 
ual indifferent politeness of expression in the presence of wo- 
men changed to startled surprise, as he grasped Dr. Went- 
worth’s arm, whispering : “ The lady of the Blue Grotto ! 
Jupiter, Doc. ! What next? ” 

But no more questions could be asked or answered then. 
Dr. Wentwoilh, approaching the lady with a beaming smile of 
proud admiration, presented his friend to her, saying: “ My 
wife, Mr. Hector Ormandoff,” adding : “Wou remember, 
dear, my old Oxford chum of whom I have so often spoken ? ” 
With rare grace and queenly courtesy, Mrs. Wentworth 
said: “Any friend of my husband is always welcome; but 
such a dear and old friend is more like a brother than a stranger. 
Permit me to welcome you most cordially to Glen Eyrie, which 
I hope you will make your familiar home.” 

Then turning to the doctor, with an expression of thrilling 
appreciation, she said : “I was sincerely sorry to seem inat- 
tentive to you, dearest, but unexpected guests prevented my 
usual welcome to you. The Irvings from New York, drove 
over this morning from Manitou Springs.” ' 

Mutual introductions amongst the guests, and a gay im- 
promtu lunch party, now occupied the attention of both host 
and hostess ; and Hector was forced to abide his time, and ob- 
serve with ceaseless interest, the many graces, and fascination 
of face and voice of this mysterious lady, of whom lie had so 
often mused ; and whom he now so strangely met again, as the 
wife of his old college chum. 

His former glimpse of her had made a lasting impression 
upon him. It had happened in this manner: Dr. Egbert 
Wentworth and he liad been spending some weeks in the 
charming vicinity of the Bay of Naples. During the previous 
years, since their college life, they had been separated by the 
rolling Atlantic ; but at the time of this memorable event, Dr. 
Wentworth — having received a legacy from an aunt, which 
thus made a lengthened vacation from his arduous profession 


i68 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


possible — bad accompanied Hector upon one of bis frequent 
trips to the Continent, which Hector was accustomed to 
make, before his reverses of fortune. While at Naples, they 
visited the lovely island of Capri. In this island is the famous 
Blue Grotto; that remarkable c spot where the tourist, while 
sailing along the shore of the bay, comes to a cliff, which at a 
little distance seems inaccessible ; but as one draws nearer, an 
unexpected opening in the rocky w^all offers an enticing retreat. 
Sailing within, one finds himself in a soi-t of arched vault, of 
unknown size; and gliding with noiseless oar through avenues 
of rough colonnades, as though in some underground reservoir, 
one is strangely fascinated with the peculiar blue tint of both 
air and water, giving to this weird spot the appropriate name 
of the Blue Grotto. 

It was in this romantic {)lace, as Dr. Wentworth and Hec- 
tor Ormandoff, with their guide, were rowing slowly along, 
trying to read some of the secrets of this mysterious freak of 
nature ; they perceived coming toward them, another boat, con- 
taining three persons, likewise ; a gentleman and lady, accom- 
panied by a guide. The gentleman was noticeable for his 
dark olive complexion, and mephistophelian expression of 
countenance; but the lady, once seen, would never be for- 
gotten. 

Evidently an American; betokened by that nameless char- 
acteristic of form and feature, which is always felt, though so sel- 
dom and so imperfectly described. German and English girls 
maybe blondes; French, Spanish and Italians may present 
very perfect types of artistic brunettes ; but American beau- 
ties, whether blonde, or brunette, possess a charm all their 
own, which no foreign belle can claim. It is a spirituelle ex- 
pression, betokening the rarely organized spirit within looking 
through the soulful eyes, and lighting up their unfathomable 
depths with an electric fiashof intelligent and magnetic appeal, 
or quick responsive appreciation ; and making even the blue- 
veined, delicate white skin of face, or fair rounded arm, 
instinct with a vital beauty far above mere fleshly loveliness. 

Not only the rare beauty of this unknown lady, but the 
startling contrast between the exalted and ethereal expression 
of her face, and the cunning, diabolical look on the counte- 
nance of the man beside her, arrested one’s attention. What 
strange destiny had thrown them together? 

As the two boats glided slowly past each other. Dr. Went- 
worth accidentally caught the eye of the beautiful lady ; and 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 169 

was startled by the look of hopeless, sorrowful appealing, w hich 
her almost unconscious glance revealed. 

Just at that moment, her companion said something to her 
in a wdiisper ; and cast upon her sucli a demoniacal look of 
evil- intent and conscious power, as might be detected in the 
cruel and glittering eye of the serpent, that holds its helpless 
victim spellbound by its ominous, but irresistible powder. This 
one glimpse of the lady of the Blue Grotto, had never been 
effaced from the memory of Hector ; and he could scarcely 
restrain his impatience to learn her subsequent history from 
his old chum. 

No fairy tale, nor marvelous story from the Arabian Nights, 
could present a more surprising mystery. As much as polite- 
ness would permit, he w^atched wdth keenest interest the man- 
ner and faces 'of his host and hostess. Dr. Wentworth evinced 
in every look and motion, his adoring affection for his beautiful 
wife ; and when her face w^as turned to his, in answer to some 
question, the flash of light and love, wdiich illumined her soul- 
ful eyes as they gazed into his for a moment ; and the glowdng 
radiance of lier smile, and the entrancing cadences of her mu- 
sical voice, as she replied to him ; revealed to Hector a depth 
of affection which few w'omen are capable of experiencing. 
He, of course, discovered in the light of the past, a hidden 
romance which none of their casual acquaintances had sus- 
pected. Never had a lunch party seemed so interminable to 
Hector ; and like many lunches, it might have been called din- 
ner, or even supper, as regards the time of day. For the sun 
w^as already setting with royal splendor behind the mountain- 
tops, turning their snow-capped peaks to golden turrets ; and 
tinting the clouds, enshrouding their bleak sides, with rainbow 
hues ; when the guests from the Springs departed, and Mrs. 
Wentworth, with a loving smile to her husband, excused her- 
self to dress for their late dinner. 

Scarcely had she vanished, before Hector exclaimed : “ Well, 
Doc., such tortures as I have endured from my unsatisfied 
curiosity ! How in the name of Saturn, did you become the 
husband of our mysterious lady of the Grotto?” 

‘‘ It is a long and strange story, Hector, but it will have to 
w^ait till after dinner ; when we will stroll through the gorge in 
the moonlight, and I will disclose this marvelous experience to 
you. But is she not regally beautiful, this superb wdfe of 
mine. Hector ? ” 

‘‘ Ah, a lover yet, I see ! Well, old fellow, I’m not so much 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


170 

surprised, since I have noticed the expression of her face when 
she looks at you. Why, man, that woman fairly worships tljc 
ground you walk on ! Of all the fortunate fellows, Doc. ! 
How did you win her? But say. Doc., old fellow, how comes 
it that you have grown gray so fast?’^ 

“ Ah, that is part of the price 1 paid for my treasure. 
Hector ! But oh, I would give life itself for her dear sake, if 
she needed the sacrifice ! Ah, here comes my queen ! ” 

Dr. Wentworth and Hector Ormandoff, having meanwhile 
dressed for dinner, had descended to the di awing-room. Mrs. 
Wentworth, attired in elegant dinner costume — for she always 
honored her husband by this attention — now approached them, 
and laid her small shapely hand upon her husband’s shoulder 
with a fond touch, which he did not fail to reciprocate ; for he 
caught the dimpled fingers and pressed them to his lips, saying : 

“Is dinner ready, pet ? ” 

“ Yes, Egbert ! ” Then turning to Hector, she remarked : 
“ Are not our old Rockies worth a long journey, Mr. Orman- 
doff? Do you wonder that Dr. Wentw’orth and I have selected 
this spot for a summer villa? I have spent many years abroad, 
but nowhere else, with the exception of one view in the Alps, 
have I found as varied and sublime scenery as I have beheld 
at different points in the Rocky Range. But then, as America 
is my native land, perhaps I am partial.” 

As the gentlemen, who had both risen from their seats at the 
approach of Mrs. Wentworth, now turned to accompany her to 
the dining-room, Hector whispered to the doctor: 

“ Then I was right when I insisted that the lady of the 
Grotto was an American ! ” 

Notwithstanding the many fascinations of the beautiful 
hostess. Hector Ormandoff inwardly rejoiced, when Dr. Went- 
worth said to his wife, after dinner : 

“ If you will excuse us, Elma, we will stroll through the 
gorge. Mr. Ormandoff wishes to see it by moonlight. We 
will not be gone long, dearest ! ” 

“I would accompany you,” replied Mrs. Wentworth, “but 
as I am a little weary, I will rest on the veranda.” 

Dr. Wentworth excused himself for a moment, and came 
back bringing a light wrap, which he lovingly folded around 
the graceful shoulders of his wife, saying in low and thrilling 
tones : 

“You remember I am your doctor, sweet wife ! The even- 
ing air will be chilly,” 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


171 

What a sudden glance of unfathomable love, rewarded his 
tender care ! It was as though her very soul shone through 
her dark blue eyes, as she softly answered, with quivering 
lip; 

“ I shall always rejoice to remember that you are my doc- 
tor, as well as my husband ! ” Then laughingly she turned to 
Hector, remarking: 

“Oh ! you cannot imagine what a terrible doctor he is!’’ 
Then proudly she added ; “Or how mighty to save I — when 
you trust him 1” 

Fearing that this mysterious lady of the Blue Grotto, would 
so entrance her lover-husband, that the secret would still longer 
remain unsolved. Hector replied : 

“ Indeed, fair lady, I can vouch for the terrible character of 
this austere doctor ; but he promised to show me your lovely 
glen by moonlight, and I am in haste to behold its weird 
charms.” 

“ Don’t stay out too long in the night air, Elma, if Mr. 
Ormandotf and I should stroll as far as the Falls.” 

“ Don’t be anxious about me, Egbert, dear 1 I am safe, you 
know 1 ” 

“ Yes, safe! — thank God ! ” replied the doctor, gazing into 
her large lustrous eyes as though he could not bear to leave 
her even for so short a time. And with a chivalrous gallantry, 
as graceful as it was courteous, he raised her hand to his lips ; 
and softly stroked with a gentle caress, her beautiful head 
crowned with its glowing puffs of silken, amber-shaded hair ; 
then waved a good-bye, and joined Hector Ormandoff who had 
descended the veranda steps. 

“I wonder if Egbert is thinking of Florence to-night! iTe 
always looks at me in that way, when he remembers that 
time,” murmured the beautiful lady to herself, as the gentle- 
men passed from her sight over the rustic bridge into the oak 
grove. 

“ Oh, my King ! My Deliverer ! — My whole life can 
scarcely reward your past love I Mighty to save ! — Yes, in- 
deed I From a very perdition of sorro\y and horror and woe ; 
— raised to a heaven of love, and peace, and rapturous bliss by 
his side ! Ah 1 even now, the terrors of death — worse than 
death — creep over me as I remember that time I But no ! I 
will dream only of him whom I love as my life ! ” 

And the radiant woman rose from her seat on the veranda, ^ 
and passed within the wide open window of the elegant par- 


1/2 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


lor; and seating herself on a blue satin lounge, she drew to- 
ward her a harp ; and sweeping the strings with her white 
tapering fingers, she gave herself up to a dreamy reverie in 
music ; and the light in her eyes, and the smile on her lips, 
revealed the secret of whom she was dreaming. 

Meanwhile, Dr. Wentworth and Hector OrmandofF were 
slowly strolling through that romantic gorge ; weirdly beauti- 
ful in the light of the full moon, which silvered the peaks of 
the distant mountains, and flooded the valley with a soft shim- 
mering radiance, till one seemed to have entered the mystic 
portals of fairy-land. 

Dr. Wentworth had been strangely silent, and his face had 
become drawn as with pain ; so that Hector started toward 
him, exclaiming : 

“ Why, Doc., are you ill ? What ails you, old fellow^?’' 

No, nothing ; but a memory haunts me, Hector ! My stoiy 
has much of sorrow and anguish in it. But, thank God ! it is 
passed from us forever, and my dear one is safe ! Oh, Hec- 
tor ! If you knew what I felt when I said she was 
But I will tell you her history. 

‘‘After we had seen our lady in the Blue Grotto, you re- 
member, you went back to Paris, and I went to Florence, 
wdiere I remained for some time. After I had visited you at 
your mother’s home in England, with the charming party of 
friends I met there, I should, perchance, have become fascin- 
ated in time, with Miss Lucille Fielding; whom, you remem- 
ber, was allotted to me, in that pleasing party of friends, and 
whom I had found a delightful young lady. But I then re- 
turned to Florence, and met there my destiny. 

“ In accordance with my usual habit of visiting the hospi- 
tals and asylums, that I might gain increased skill in my 
chosen profession ; I went to the outskirts of Florence, where 
I had been informed there was an asylum for the insane. 
Those in charge of the institution received me with courtesy, 
and as a physician I was allowed freely to pass through the 
wards. 

“ As we entered one ward, the doctor who escorted me, re- 
marked : ‘We have one patient who puzzles us greatly. She 
is young and very beautiful. She is an Italian countess. 
Count Benoni, her husband, declares she is insane ; but aside 
from her strange manner in his presence, I cannot discover 
anything amiss in the lady’s mind or conversation. We allow 
her the full liberty of the house and grounds ; but as the 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


173 


count’s orders are peremptory that we constantly watch her, 

she is never left alone night or day Ah ! I see she is not in 

this ward/ continued the doctor. ‘ No doubt she is out on the 
lawn with her attendant. I would like to have you study her 
case. Though she is an Italian countess, they say she is an 
American. One would know tliat she was a foreigner by her 
accent, though she speaks good Italian, and her voice is like 
music.’ 

‘‘I followed the Italian doctor into the garden,” continued 
Dr. Wentworth, ‘‘feeling some curiosity to behold this fair 
patient. We entered a small orange grove, and seated under 
one of the trees, I beheld with startled wonder, our lady of 
the Blue Grotto. As we approached, she raised her eyes with 
an expression of fear ; then seeing me, a look of recognition 
flashed over her face, as the doctor said : 

“ ‘ Here is an American gentleman wdio wishes to see the 
grounds and the orange groves.’ 

“ ‘ Ah, you are an American? ’ she said. Then as the doc- 
tor stepped aside to speak to her attendant maid, she half rose 
from her seat ; and as I quickly stepped nearer, a look of hor- 
ror and pitiful anguish distorted her beautiful face, as she 
whispered : ‘ I am not mad ! Help me ! Count Benoni impri,s- 
ons me here and says I am mad, and these doctors believe him ! 
Oh, for the love of God ! will you help me ? Can you help 
me? — Take care! ’ she added, under her breath ; ‘my jailors 
are coming. Don’t betray me 1 ’ 

‘* Help her I would ! I had never forgotten the beautiful 
lady of the Blue Grotto ; and oh, horrors ! I had never for- 
gotten the diabolical face of the man who accompanied her. 
Instantly I divined the truth. That man was her l^usband. 
She, an American I How had it happened ? I knew not. 
He — the devil incarnate ! — declared she was mad, and for some 
fiendish purpose had imprisoned her here. But what could 
I do ? It would be no easy task to rescue her from the ter- 
rible dangers wdiich surrounded lier. Then and there, I vowed 
to devote my time and my skill to save her if possible. From 
what I knew not ; — but I could imagine enough of the terrible 
tortures which she suffered if she were not insane ; — and of 
that I was convinced, as by a heaven-sent intuition. My un- 
speakable wonder was only that she had not become a raving 
maniac, instead of remaining the gentle lady on whose angelic 
face was written only unutterable woe. 

“ As her jailers approached, I whispered : ‘ If human aid 


174 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


can help you, trust me, I will do so ! I am a doctor also, and 
so can manage to see you.’ 

As I announced the fact that I was a doctor, a look of dis- 
trust passed over her face. But as |:hougli some angel had 
wliispered a message of hope, the look vanished ; and with a 
faint smile, which drove for an instant the woe from her beau- 
tiful face, she murmured : ‘ I knew God had sent you to help 
me ! I will trust you forever! ’ 

‘‘Now the asylum physician approached us, and as I rejoined 
him, he said : ‘ Well, what do you think of our countess ? ’ 

“ ‘ She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,’ I 
answered. 

“ ‘ Is she an American ? ’' he asked. 

“ ‘ I think so, but I did not ask her,’ I said. ‘ If you will 
allow me, as a physician, I would like to study her case.’ 

“ ‘ I should be glad to have you do so. Count Benoni 
declares she is insane ; and of course it is for our interest to 
think so, as he pays well for her keeping, and is very solicitous 
regarding her health. But aside from her conduct when he 
visits her ; when she becomes almost frenzied with fear, or hor- 
ror, or anger, or anguish — or else scornfully silent ; — I notice 
nothing in word or manner that would denote any unsoundness 
of mind.’ 

“ Being sure that I had seen Count Benoni, and easily im- 
agining what such a man could make any woman suffer who 
found herself hopelessly in his power ; I did not share the doc- 
tor’s surprise that his mephistophelian face, and dreaded pres- 
ence, should so effect her. 

“I cannot enter into all the details of my efforts on her 
behalf. Hector. Being allowed conversation with her in my 
professional capacity, I soon learned her history. 

“ Our lady of the Blue Grotto, then Countess Benoni, \vas 
an American. Her father, Mr. Waldemar, a man of large 
wealth, had traveled much with Elm a, as she was his only 
child, and motlierless. Residing for some time in Florence, 
they had made the acquaintance of Count Benoni, an Italian 
of noble birth, but most worthlsss character. With the cun- 
ning of many men of his stamp, and with the advantages of his 
birth and position, he lavished attentions upon lier father and 
lierself, and succeeded in winning her father’s fuvor. As for 
herself, an instinctive repulsion warned lier against him. But 
as bis home and IViends iiitioduced ibem into a gay circle of 
titled ladies and gentlemen, she was gradually induced to join 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 




in their gayeties, always under the escort of her devoted 
father. Then her father was taken suddenly ill. Count 
Benoni was so constant in his attentions to her sick father, 
that she lost somewhat of her intense repugnance for him. 
Her father was apparently suffering from a stroke of paralysis, 
which, though it deprived him of speech, did not make him 
entirely unconscious. 

‘‘One day, Elma discovered in her father’s room, a letter 
addressed to herself ; in which it was stated, that her father 
had by some means unexplained, become involved in sorm; 
trouble, from which only the count could deliver him ; and 
begging her to accept the count, who had already sued fur her 
hand, as her husband ; as the only means of saving lier father 
from disgrace, and perhaps death ; this being the only condi- 
tion, upon which the count would use his influence in his 
behalf. 

“ Elma would have thought this letter a forgery, were it not 
for the fact that it was written upon paper marked with her 
father’s monogram, and signed with his name, and dated the 
morning of the fatal day on wdiich he had been prostrated by 
the paralytic stroke. 

“ Elma was overwhelmed with horror ; but the sight of her 
helpless father, and the thought that if the statements in the 
letter could possibly be true, how ungrateful she must appear 
to her loved father; and the hope that if his supposed wish 
was gratified, he might be restored to health ; at last overcame 
her own will, and forced her to this terrible self-sacrifice. 

“ So when the count spoke to her upon the subject, and re- 
newed his protestations of love for her, and his devotion to her 
father, and his promise to help him out of the great trouble; 
wliich, the count declared, was the cause of his sudden illness ; 
but which, out of kindness to her, and loyalty to her father, he 
would not explain ; she at last gave an unwilling consent to be- 
come his wife. 

“It seemed hardly appropriate to have the ceremony per- 
formed while her father lay so sick, but the count persisted in 
declaring that this was the most speedy remedy to restore his 
health ; and assured her that when she should announce her 
marriage to her father, he had strong hopes that he might as 
suddenly regain his speech as he had lost it. As Elma had 
heard of such cases, in which sudden joy overcame the weak- 
ness of one suffering from partial paralysis ; it seemed unfilial 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


176 

to urge her personal wishes, if she could thus insure her father’s 
recovery^ or add to his peace of mind. 

‘‘She sometimes thought of speaking to her father of the 
matter, but the count urged that any allusion to his hidden 
trouble might prove fatal to him. Under these hopeless cir- 
cumstances, Elma determined to sacrifice herself to her father’s 
supposed wish. As she would not consent to leave his bed- 
side, even for an hour, the count brought his sister and brother 
as witnesses, and a priest to perform the marriage ceremony. 
So poor, frightened, perplexed, friendless Elma, was hurried to 
her awful doom. 

“ As soon as the ceremony was over, Elma hastened to her 
father’s side ; and hoping to see his dim eyes light up with joy, 
she cried : ‘ Dear father, I have obeyed your wish. Count 

Benoni is my husband ! ’ 

“ Elma says that amidst all her after sorrows, she^never for- 
got the horror which she now beheld upon her dying father’s 
face, as his dull ears at last heard her awful words. Instead 
of his expected recovery, his eyes glared even through the films 
of gathering death, with ghastly anguish ; and trying in vain 
to articulate some words, the meaning of which his face only 
too well revealed, he gasped and died. Turning with horror 
to the count, and crying: ‘You have deceived me! You 
have killed my father I ’ Elma fell upon the corpse, and re- 
members nothing. more until she wakened weeks afterwards, to 
find herself in the house of the count, surrounded by his rela- 
tions, who acted as spies upon her every word and action. 

“ By her father’s will, which the count had discovered in 
her father’s room ; and which, as her husband, he assumed the 
right to secure ; all of her father’s large property was left to 
her, as long as she lived ; and if she died without children, it 
was to go to his widowed sister. When she saw the will, and 
heard no more about her father’s supposed disgrace, she became 
convinced that the count had forged the letter purporting to 
have been written to her by her father, and had married her 
only to secure the use of her fortune. 

“Then came more personal cruelties. The count soon 
threw off his mask of kindness, and officious care, with the 
partial restoration of her hearth. Though to her, death would 
have seemed most welcome ; youth, and a strong constitution, 
would not permit her to go down into the longed-for grave. 
When we met her in the Blue Grotto, about a year had passed 
since her father’s death. We noticed, you remember, that she 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


177 


wore black; and as the doctors had recommended change of 
air, the count had accompanied her to Naples. At that time 
she was being subjected to new tortures. 

‘‘ She told me wdien I first met her in the asylum, that she 
was sure, if the will had been differently worded, the count 
would have poisoned her, or stabbed her to death. But as he 
could have the use of her fortune only during her lifetime, it 
was for his interest to see that her health did not suffer. 

“ Then w^as laid a new scheme to get rid of her in some 
manner, so that the count could indulge in all his favorite dis- 
sipations ; for she had threatened to kill herself, if he brought 
any of his evil associates into her presence, and her death 
meant the loss of her wealth to him. Gladly w^ould she have 
paid the whole of her fortune for her freedom ; but all such 
pleadings were in vain. Only as lier husband, could he obtain 
the use of her large income, which she dutifully handed over 
to him as soon as received from the executors of her father^s 
estates. When she threatened to write to her American friends, 
and take legal measures to secure her divorce from liim ; he 
swore he would blast her fair reputation forever, and swear to 
the vilest of lies regarding her conduct in Italy, and use his 
relations as witnesses. She was friendless, alone, in a den of 
human fiends, thirsting only for her gold ; with spies over all 
her actions, and every letter which she penned, subjected to 
the eyes of the count, or his equally cruel sister. 

‘‘ Outwardly treated with marked respect, in the eyes of the 
world ; the beautiful, heart-broken countess, was looked upon 
as one to be envied ; and former schoolmates in America, 
proudly talked of their old friend, now the lovely Countess 
Benoni. 

At last, her intense horror at the very sight of the count, 
aroused his fiendish fury ; and throwing off all masks, he de- 
clared that he had married her only for her money ; that the 
letter, by means of which he obtained her, was forged ; and as 
all that he wished of her was her fortune, if that cursed will 
had not made her life necessary to him, he would have killed 
her. Then, with an expression of face worthy of the arch- 
fiend himself, he declared that now he would shut her up for 
life in an insane asylum ; and take good care, too, that she did 
not make away wdth herself ; so, at last, he would be able to 
enjoy her money, and be rid of her also. 

“ ‘ Was there no one to save her ? Not one of all the pity- 
ing angels in heaven ? Not one bolt of God to strike him 
12 


A Moral inheritance:. 


178 

dead there before her?’ Overwhelmed by . these horrible 
threats, Elma fainted ; and when she came again to herself, 
the prisdn walls of the insane asylum were closed upon her, 
and all her attendants looked upon her as a mad woman ; and 
even expressed in her presence, their sympathy for the poor 
count, who was so particular about her comfort, and promised 
to pay so well for constant attendance ; which was so faithfully 
performed, that she was not allowed to be alone one instant, 
either night or day ; until I commanded, as her physician, that 
she. should be given certain hours of freedom from such close 
restraint. 

“ As I listened to her tragic and heart-rending story, I was 
astonished that she had not, indeed, hopelessly lost her reason, 
after such terrible torturing of her young heart. To be shut 
up with raving maniacs, and forced to listen, night and day, to 
their wild cries, or idiotic mutterings ; to look upon faces dis- 
torted with insanity ; and, worse than all, to be regarded by 
all around her as a mad woman ; so that every word she 
uttered, and every motion she made, was narrowly watched as 
a confirmation of this suspicion ; surely, any but the strongest 
intellect, and the purest and bravest heart, and the highest 
faith in God’s final protection, would have given way ! Little 
w^onder, that such unutterable woe should drive the sanest 
mind hopelessly and incurably mad ! 

“ What could I do ? How could I rescue this beautiful creat- 
ure, who had so strangely become a part of my very life ? 
How could the fiend exist, who could torture such a lovely be- 
ing ? These were my brooding thoughts night and day. 
Every project of possible rescue that suggested itself to my 
mind, was examined with minutest care ; and each accidental 
contingency which might arise, was the constant subject of my 
unwearied anxiety. 

‘‘ Sometimes, I thought of risking a sudden flight by night ; 
which, as her physician, 1 might perliaps have attempted. But 
the remembrance of her husband’s legal power over her, which 
would make her life all the more unendurable, should we be 
surprised and overtaken ; and the thought, also, that by so do- 
ing, her fair name might be placed in jeopardy, notwithstand- 
ing our motives might be innocent of evil as the thoughts of 
angels, forced me to relinquish such a plan. 

‘‘ I also thought of sending for her father’s American law- 
yers, to secure for her if possible a legal divorce ; but Elma 
assured me, that such a course would be hopeless ; as the 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


179 


count^s position and influence was such, that he could manipu- 
late the Italian courts according to his own pleasure. And as 
it was not for his selfish advantage to be divorced from 'her — 
or rather from her fortune ; — he would fight such an attempt 
with all his malevolent cunning, and secure a horde of his re- 
lations to swear to all the vilest lies his evil nature could devise. 

About six weeks had now passed, since the Countess Be- 
noni had become my patient. The resident physicians of the 
institution were well pleased wdth her apparent improved state 
of health, and had given her almost entirely into my charge. 
I had, for some time, been making secret investigations, in ac- 
cordance with a new plan I liad devised for her rescue ; and 
though it was, in some aspects, a most hazardous undertaking, 
it was the only one upon which I could rely with any hope of 
final success. 

‘‘ As I entered the asylum, one afternoon, on my return 
from the city, where I had been to attend to some very im- 
portant matters, I was almost distracted by the appalling spec- 
tacle which met my gaze* I had insisted that my patient 
should have apartments so secluded, that she should not be 
obliged to meet any of the other inmates ; and as I approached 
the open door of her special sitting-room, I was the unnoticed 
witness of one of those dreadful interviews with her cruel tor- 
mentor, the villainous Count Benoni. The countess had fled to 
the far corner of the room ; her beautiful eyes dilated with 
such unutterable horror, and awful anguish, as made my very 
blood curdle. The count and the asylum doctor stood near 
the door, and I heard the cool sneering tones of the devilish 
scoundrel, as he smilingly said, in Italian : 

“ ‘ There, Doctor, you see she is incurably mad ! Why 
should the presence of such a devoted husband as I am, thus 
rouse her frenzy ? ’ 

‘‘ ‘ I fear it is so \ * replied the doctor. ‘ It is one of the 
strange freaks of insane persons, that they often display the 
wildest fury of hate against their nearest relations.’ 

^‘Imagine my feelings at that moment! I could scarcely 
restrain myself from denouncing that arch-fiend to his face, 
and exposing his satanic villainies. But the knowledge that 
the law was on his side, and that instead of helping the poor 
countess, I should be abandoning her hopelessly to his cruel 
power, bridled my fierce indignation, and I allowed myself only 
mental curses against him. Just at that moment, the sorrow- 
stricken countess perceived me ; and the flash of hope and 


A moral iNHERITAJVCL. 


i8o 

trust which broke through thevshaclows of despair and horror, 
which darkened her face, I shall never forget. 

‘‘ The asylum official also saw me, and turning to the count, 
he said : ‘Oh! here is that American doctor, who seems to 
have such beneficial influence upon the poor countess. Per- 
haps we had better retire, and leave the patient in his care.’’ 

“ The count instantly approached me, and in the blandest of 
tones, through wliich, I heard, however, the voice of a demon, 
he said : ‘ Signor Doctor, you behold my poor wife ! Think 

you not she must be incurably mad, to welcome thus the com- 
ing of a most devoted husband, who watches her health with 
such tender solicitude? I am glad to know that you have her 
in charge.’ 

“ Not daring to trust myself to speak to that atrocious ras- 
cal, I closed the door of the apartment, and hastened to the 
aid of my poor tortured patient ; who, grief-exhausted, sank 
down on the sofa, and covered her face wdth her delicate white 
hands. As I gently touched her head, she whispered, in 
frightened tones : ‘ Is he gone. Doctor?’ 

“ ‘ Yes, Countess ! ’ I answered. 

“ As I spoke, she shuddered ; and throwing her arms 
wildly above her head, she exclaimed : 

“ ‘ Oh, for the love of God 1 Never call me that terrible 
name again ! Every time I hear it spoken, it stabs me to the 
heart, like the keen blade of a dagger. Oh, Doctor, save me; 
or else let me die quickly ! Call me Elm a, Doctor, as my 
father did. My hated title, is to me only the stigma of shame, 
and reminder of my hopeless woe ! ’ 

“ ‘ Lady Elma,’ I answered, ‘ I wdll never again use the title 
you hate. But forgive me, poor child! I am not old enough 
to take the fatherly liberty of addressing you without any title, 
and then — ’ But I paused ; — while she was the wife of 
another, even though bound to a villain, I must bury my 
secret. My life, and my constant care, I could honorably 
offer ; but my heart, I must smother, in unflinching silence, 
until I could call her — My Elma / — wdiich might not be this side 
of the grave, perad venture. Oh, Hector, you can’t know the 
tortures I suffered ! Beholding the being I loved as my own 
soul, thus afflicted ; and to know I had no right to offer her 
any comfort, but the professional care of her faithful physician ! 
Perhaps she surmised some of my thoughts, for, with a look of 
angelic sweetness, while tears shone in her violet eyes, she re- 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


l8l 

Thank you, Doctor! Yes, that is b(!tter ! Excuse my 
childish request. But I felt so forsaken and lonely ! ’ 

‘Not forsaken, dear Lady Elma, while I live 1 ’ I replied; 
and then I unfolded to her my last plan for her rescue, and 
which had become my determined resolve ; since I had now 
witnessed the terrible torture, which even the mere presence 
of that infamous count inflicted upon her. 

“ My plan was this : A friend of mine, who had traveled 
in Persia, had secured some of that mysterious drug which the 
dervishes use ; and had given to me a small vial of it, that I 
might make some experiments. He told me, that only those 
dervishes who had attained to the highest degree of sanctity, 
were allowed to make use of it, in a ceremony which was re- 
garded as the most sacred of all their forms of devotion. The 
dervish set apart for this high honor, was given, from time to 
time, a small dose of the drug ; until his system had become 
so accustomed to its effects, as to allow him to take a larger 
quantity of the medicine. Then he was prepared for the final 
ceremony, which consisted of a kind of burial. Having been 
placed in an unconscious, and apparently lifeless condition, 
under the influence of this peculiar drug ; he was laid in a 
tomb, for a certain number of hours, until consciousness re- 
turned, when he was rescued from this living death. 

“ My purpose now, was to employ this drug, in the only 
plan of rescue which I felt confident could be successfully car- 
ried out. I had made many experiments, with this singular 
narcotic ; first upon numerous animals, and subsequently upon 
some of my patients in the hospital, all of which tests Lad 
proved the efficacy of the medicine ; and I had found it very 
valuable in cases of severe and complicated fracture of the 
limbs and thigh joints, when the slightest motion of the body 
would have produced most disastrous results. I had ascer- 
tained that the time of required unconsciousness, could be most 
accurately determined ; and I had noticed no after evil effects, 
upon the patient, from such experiments ; though, of course, it 
must be handled with the greatest care and discretion. So I 
said to Lady Elma : 

“ ‘ I think I have devised a way of rescue, dear lady, but it 
will require some time, and much patience and fortitude on 
your part.’ 

“ ‘ Oh ! I will endure anything. Doctor, most willingly, if 
there is any hope of freedom ; and if it does not involve the 
sight of the count, whose presence so overwhelms me with 


1§2 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


horror and repugnance, that I am no longer able to control my 
powers of mind, or the expression of my face.’ 

“ ‘ It is not such a trial of your fortitude, my poor child, 
that I require. And now that I have witnessed your suffer- 
ings, I have vowed that you shall never again be obliged to look 
upon his diabolical face ; — villain ! — arch-fiend, that he is ! — 
Forgive me,’ I quickly added, ‘for so speaking of your — No ! 
I cannot say it ! We must be sufiiciently frank with each 
other, to acknowledge that we understand and reciprocate each 
other’s opinion of that man.’ 

“ ‘ Oh, Doctor, can you dp so much for me ? Need I never 
see him again? But how can you prevent it? Hq is my — 
No ! I cannot say it ! ’ she cried. ‘ He is my curse ! my tor- 
ture ! A very demon of evil and crime. A murderer ! For 
he killed my poor father, and would gladly kill me also if he 
could gain by it. He would have been far more human, and 
less a fiend, if he had pierced my heart with the jeweled 
stiletto that he always carries ; and which he once showed me, 
and boasted that it had already shed the blood of ladies as fair 
and as rich as myself. And one of the attendants of this 
asylum, said in my hearing, yesterday : “ ’Tis strange she is 

tlie second Countess Benoni who has gone mad. The other 
young creature was also an American ; but she died very soon, 
poor lady ! ” ’ 

“ ‘ And that is just what you must do, dear Lady Elma ! ’ 
1 said, looking into her eyes with a reassuring smile, and tak- 
ing her small white hand in mine, to feel her pulse. She ap- 
peared startled for only one instant ; and then, with a beaming 
look of complete trust in her luminous eyes, which seqpied to 
read my very thoughts, she smiled, and whispered : ’ 

“ ‘ Ah ! is that your rescue ? Countess Benoni must die ? ’ 
‘‘ ‘ Yes, dear Lady Elma, forgive the hated title just once ! 
Countess Benoni must die ; that is, in the eyes of the world ; 
but Lady Elma will live, I hope, for long years to come.’ 

“ ‘ Well, how is this marvelous miracle to be wrought, most 
magical Doctor ; and how will you smuggle me into my sup- 
posed grave, without suspicion ? ’ 

“ Then I told her about this mysterious drug, and its effects. 
I would give her the medicine in small doses, at first. She 
must be patient, for many weeks must elapse before I should 
dare to give her the necessary quantity to insure her uncon- 
sciousness for the required time for her mock death and 

“ ‘ Burial ! ’ she added. 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


183 


“ ‘ No, Lady Elma, you shall attend your own burial, in the 
face of all your enemies — and yet they shall not know you. 
There is where your fortitude must come in, my dear child.' 

“ ‘ Well, mystical Doctor, I shall begin to think you are some 
mighty magician, sent by Heaven for my rescue ; or perhaps, 
some angel in disguise ; for it seems to me, no human power 
can deliver me. But whether magician, or angel, you are surely 
mighty to save! If your experiment succeeds, and I am free 
to live, I will spend the rest of my existence in blessing you. 
But, even if it should fail to give me bodily freedom ; if, by 
some unforeseen accident, I should never wake up in this life; 
believe me ! I shall go down into the grave, blessing you with 
my last breath; and shall wake up in Heaven, to bless you 
throughout all eternity.” 

Oil, Hector, those words were almost more than I could bear I 
Dear child! she did not know what a storm of emotions she 
raised in my heart. She did not know, that she was dearer 
to me than life itself ; that I would gladly pour out my very 
life-blood, in her behalf, while I thus coolly talked to her of 
professional experiments. She did not know that I had to 
pray every hour of my life, that God would keep me from de- 
siring the death of the worthless villain who separated us, and 
tortured her. Why should God heve allowed such a fiend to 
possess this beautiful pure being? I almost doubted God’s 
overruling providence! ^ All things work together 'for good 
to those that love God ! ’ seemed sometimes a vain mockery ; 
— and then again, thank God! my very bulwark of strength. 
That angelic spirit revered and loved God. Surely, her trust 
would triumph ! And then a holy exaltation came to me in 
the thought, that Providence had selected me as the instrument 
of her salvation from such unutterable woe. 

“ I then told Lady Elma, that I had discovered an American 
lady in Florence, who was an old friend of her mother's. 1 had 
attended her husband, in a recent illness, and the name of the 
count being mentioned, this fact was ascertained. When I 
communicated to Lady Elma the name of this lady, she ex- 
claimed, with delight : ‘ Oh ! she will help us. Doctor ! ’ 

“ ‘ Yes, I have secured her promised assistance. I revealed to 
her all your history ; and she, and her husband, both think that 
this is our best plan. I dare not take into our confidence any 
one of the attendants in this asylum ; and as I shall require 
the services of some one, during the final arrangements, I have 
secured her akh Would you object to lying in an open coffiiij 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


184 

dear Lady Elma, for a short time, while you are unconscious, 
with your friend watching beside you? For you see, dear 
child, I must not give the officials of this institution the least 
cause of suspicion/ 

‘‘ ‘ No, dear Doctor ! ’ she cried ; ‘ not only would I be wilh 
ing to lie in an open coffin, but a closed one as well ; for I 
would 'far rather be buried forever, than to be left in this tortur- 
ing woe ! ’ 

^ My plan then is this: When the time comes to place 
you in the final unconscious state, I will have all arrangements 
made. Your short fits of unconsciousness, from the effects of 
of the small doses, from time to time, will prepare the attend- 
ants and doctors for the final one, in which they^dll suppose 
you have died. Meanwhile, I will conduct your American 
friend to your bedside. She will wear mourning, and a heavy 
crape veil, entirely enveloping her face and her figure. After 
the .persons in this asylum have had ocular proof that you are 
dead, by seeing you lying in your open coffin ; as the time ap- 
proaches for your recovery, I will have no one present, but my- 
self and your friend. When you come to yourself, she will aid 
you to put on the same clothes she had been wearing ; and, as 
you are about the same height and figure, with the enveloping 
veil, no one will discover the difference in the wearers of that 
mourning costume. As they have seen her by your coffin, the 
next day they will perceive her, as they suppose — but you, in 
reality — beside the empty closed casket ; and I will have aided 
your friend to disappear from the building, in the night, and 
to join her husband, who will wait for her in a carriage nearby. 
Then is when you must show your fortitude and composure, 
dear Lady Elma ! But fear not ! your disguise will be such, 
that no one can suspect you ; and as you appear to be the 
strange American lady, no one will dare to address you. The 
burial of the Countess Benoni must be public, you see, to allay 
all suspicion. As soon as the empty coffin is lowered into the 
family vault, and Countess Benoni is buried forever, I will con- 
duct Lady Elma to her American friends in Florence, who will 
start with her immediately for America/ 

‘‘‘Oh! can you work all these wonders ?' she exclaimed, 
with glowing eyes ; for, instead of evincing horror, as I had 
feared, she had listened to all these details with an expression 
of almost rapture upon her beautiful face. 

“ ‘ I trust so, dear Lady Elma! I think that in the care of 
your friends, you will be safe ; and having landed in Americ^i, 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 18 $ 

they will place you under the protection of the executors of 
your father’s will/ 

‘ But then you will leave me ? ’ she murmured. 

“ Oh, Hector, how could I keep from telling her that I 
would never leave her ! But, poor child, she thought only of 
my fatherly care of her, and trembled lest she might never be 
safe from her tormentors if I left her. 

I walked the floor for a moment, to calm my wild heart- 
throbs ; and told myself over again, ‘ No matter, though the 
count be a devil ! While he lives, she is nothing to you but 
your patient ! ’ But Lady Elrna, mistaking my feelings, rose 
quickly and came to my side, saying: 

‘ Doctor, you think I am afraid to test this experiment ! 
Forgive me, that I did not tell you before, that I had no fears 
regarding anything you would sanction. I have courage for 
anything, but a sight of that monster ! But I will not move a 
muscle, unbidden ; and on your arm, under that veil, I defy 
them to know me.’ 

“ 1 cannot give you all the details of that anxious time. Hec- 
tor ! I thought I had provided for every emergency ; but oh ! 
I did not foresee the awful moments of anguish I afterwards 
experienced. I had administered small doses of the drug to 
Lady Elma, from time to time, with very satisfactory results. 
The first periods of unconsciousness were very short, and the 
attendants became accustomed to these ‘ fainting-spells,’ as 
they supposed them ; and as I was always present to give any 
assistance necessary, they in time left her, on such occasions, 
completely in my charge. 

The asylum physician, in consulting with me regarding 
her condition, made the remark: ‘Well, Doctor, I do not 
understand this last phase of her case. I should not be at all 
surprised if she were actually to die, in some of these strange 
fainting-fits, which seem to be increasing in frequency.’ 

“ And I took very good care not to differ with him in such 
an opinion. I found; also, that he did not keep this supposi- 
tion to himself ; for several of the attendants afterwards asked 
me, if I thought the case of the countess very critical. At 
that time, I also heard the story of the first Countess Benoni ; 
who had become a raving maniac, and had set her clothes on 
fire, with a match she had obtained in some mysterious man- 
ner ; and had died from the effects of the terrible burns she 
had received, before assistance reached her. And as I listened, 
I shuddered ; and again I vowed that I would rescue Lady 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


1 86 

Elma, not only from her persecutors, but from the very jaws 
of grim death, itself. Ah ! how little did I then think of 
the unforeseen circumstances which would call the latter part of 
my vow into execution. 

At last the time arrived when I had made every arrange- 
ment for the final act in this tragical drama. I knew by my 
})revious experiments, the exact time to a moment, when Lady 
Elma would recover consciousness, after the final dose of our 
protecting anaesthetic should be administered. 

“ The weather was very warm, which w^as a favorable event, 
as it would give force to my intended suggestion, regarding 
the necessity of a speedy burial service, after her supposed 
deatli had been discovered. I had already made all the ar- 
rangements regarding her coffin, with the exception of the sil- 
ver letters of her title ; which, by some strange instinct, I wns 
fully determined to have placed upon the outside of the closed 
lid. I had ordered tlie coffin made, ostensibly for one of my 
hospital patients ; and fearing, lest the time required for mak- 
ing the silver letters of her titled name, which I seeiaed by 
some supernatural agency, to fee) were necessary to the suc- 
cessful consummation ^of the rescue of Lady Elma from the 
power of her inveterate and cruel tormentors ; might, in some 
manner, prove a disastrous delay ; I had ordered these sepa- 
rate letters to be made by different jewelers, at various times, 
so that I had succeeded in procuring them all without suspicion 
of their subsequent disposition. 

“ Everything being now in readiness, I administered the 
final dose to Lady Elma ; and as usual, her attendants sup- 
posed she w^as unconscious from one of her customary fainting- 
fits. I was not surprised, when the physicians and attendants 
remarked upon the unusual length of the attack ; nor when, 
after several hours, they announced the fact that she was dead. 
I took very good care, also, not to deny it ; nor to show, by 
word or look, that I had doubts upon the subject. 

“ Leaving one of the most faithful of the nurses of the in- 
stitution, to watch by the bedside of the countess, for a short 
time ; I announced the fact, that most important business 
would call me to the city for a few hours, and volunteered to 
make all necessary preparations regarding her burial ; suggest- 
ing to the asylum physician, that I would leave it for him to 
communicate with the count. 

“ As I could not imagine any harm which could befall Lady 
Elma in my absence, being confident that the drug would keep 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


187 


her in complete unconsciousness for the expected length of 
time ; I hastened to the city, to procure the aid of the Ameri- 
can lady, in carrying out our previously arranged plan. 

‘‘I informed the nurse, that the countess had expressed her 
desire, in case such an event should occur as had taken place, 
that I should bring her American friend at once ; who would 
perform every service necessary to render, as the countess had 
expressly requested that no other hands should touch her, .in 
preparing her for burial. The nurse promised that no under- 
takers should be admitted during my absence, and I speedily 
departed. I was gone but a few hours ; and returning with 
our American friend, I hastened to the apartments of Lady 
Elma. 

Going softly into the darkened room, a sight met my gaze 
that seemed to freeze the very blood in my veins ; and lifted 
the hair on my head, as though some icy, spectral fingers, had 
been passed through my locks in a ghastly salute ! For one 
awful instant, I seemed paralyzed in soul and body with very 
horror! Then springing forward, with a gasp of terror, I 
caught the uplifted hand of the asylum doctor, as he was just 
about to pierce, with glittering scalpel, the beautiful head of the 
unconscious Lady Elma ! Ah, I had never thought of this I — 
Post mortem examination I — In my frenzied horror, I had 
almost betrayed our secret ! For forgetting everything but 
her danger, I was just about to shriek ‘ She is not dead 1 ’ — 
but coming to my senses, I, calmed myself as quickly as possi- 
ble ; for it would not do for a physician to appear so overcome 
at the sight of a post mortem examination of a dead patient. 
Then I hastily informed the doctor, that the countess had re- 
quested that I should prevent such an examination being made, 
if any of these frequent fainting spells should terminate in the 
event which had now taken place. 

“ The Italian said, of course he would respect such a request 
of the dead countess ; but it had been the usual practice of the 
physicians of the institution, to make such examinations of the 
brains of their deceased patients, in the interests of science 
and humanity ; and that he had already obtained the consent 
of the count in this matter. 

‘‘ I looked at the unconscious and beautiful face before us, 
and shuddered once more, as the thought repeated itself over 
again and again in my mind ‘What if I liad been too late?’ 
But the mental picture which followed was too harrowing to be 
endured; and, raising my eyes, I unconsciously gazed into a 


i88 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


mirror on the opposite side of the room ; and started back in 
amazement, as I thought I beheld my father, who bad been 
dead several years. But a second glance, revealed the fact, 
that it was my own face I was beholding ; and that several 
locks of my hair bad turned w^hite, in that short moment of lior- 
rified anguish. Fearing lest others would notice the change in 
my appearance, I quietly darkened the window^, from wbich 
the shade had been partially lifted, to throw light on the beau- 
tiful subject, whom the doctors had intended to pierce with 
their glittering instruments. 

“ The American lady now entered the room, and I intro- 
duced her to the asylum officials ; but as she did not lift her 
heavy veil, it was quite impossible for them to scan her 
features ; and it was part of my purpose, that her presence 
should be a well known fact, to attendants and doctors, to pre- 
vent after suspicions. . ♦ 

“ Breathing a heavy sigh of relief, that Lady Elma was now 
in the care of a friend who would make no unlooked for mis- 
takes, to endanger our projects ; I called the nurse to my side, 
and followed the doctors out of the room, leaving our faithful 
helper to complete the arrangements we had agreed upon. 
When again I entered the apartment, the countess was robed 
as for burial ; and we succeeded in placing her in an open 
coffin, which had been brought in accordance with my orders, 
without exciting any suspicions. 

“ But now we must pass through another ordeal. The count 
and his relations came to view the supposed remains of her, 
whose young life they had leagued together to torture, for their 
cruel, devilish greed. Thank God ! her lovely eyes would not 
dilate now wdtli horrified anguish, when the modern Mephis- 
topheles should cast his santanic glance of baffled rage upon 
his unconscious victim. 

“ As the count , approached the open coffin, at the head of 
which sat our American friend, still enveloped in her impene- 
trable veil ; I could scarcely conceal my bitter hatred of this 
cool, cunning villain, who now so hypocritically assumed the 
demeanor of an afflicted mourner. That he did mourn, I knew ; 
but ’twas rage for the loss of the w^ealth, which now seemed 
slipping forever from his iniquitous fingers. I w^ell knew, that 
did he think that his victim was alive, and that he w'ould be 
able forever to rid himself of her, and at the same time clutch 
her coveted fortune, by a cut of his glittering stiletto across her 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


189 


white throat ; he would murder her without hesitation, and 
gloat in fiendish deliglit over her quivering, bleeding corpse. 

As these thoughts flashed through my mind, while I listened 
to his hypocritical laments, I almost imagined that the horror 
of his presence had even aroused the unconscious sleeper, and 
that I saw a ghastly spasm overspread her pallid face. Hastily 
stepping to the side of the coffin, I touched the white hand of 
Lady Elma, and slightly pressed it three times ; wliicli was a 
signal we had agreed upon, by which I should warn her of 
danger, if I saw evidences of her coming to consciousness be- 
fore the expected time. This sign would make known to her 
the necessity of still maintaining the feigned appearance of death, 
until one firmer pressure would assure her that the danger of 
detection was over. 

‘‘As the count passed from the room, I followed him, and 
for one moment I stood alone with him in the outer apart- 
ment. A wild thought then seized me. A glass of wine stood 
on a table. I would offer him some, and meanwhile, drop into 
it a deadly dose of a certain drug I had then in my pocket* 
Then my Elina would be free to be mine ! 

“ As this awful temptation assailed me, I started, as though 
a fiend had spoken ; and these words came to my mind : 
‘ Vengeance is mine, I will repay saith the Lord! * — ‘ Thank 
God ! I’m not mad ! ’ I murmured ; and I went back into 
that consecrated room, to look again upon that angelic face, 
and bless God that the demon of revenge had left me. 

“ Still, hours of trial were before us , but I felt that God, in 
His merciful kindness, would open the way, and would keep us 
from staining our souls with sin. Oh, Hector, have you ever 
experienced the overwhelming sense of humiliation and re- 
morse, which comes over the soul, as one realizes the frightful 
fact, that, even though only for an instant — and perhaps moved 
by a righteous indignation — still, nevertheless, for a moment, 
in your own heart you were a murderer? That the blood- 
thirsty demon of frenzy possessed you I Ah, one’s own soul 
seemsnever so white after that ! and the knell of our self-righteous 
boasted exemption from the terrible crime of Cain, is tolled by 
the deep tones of our awakened conscience repeating the words 
of the God-Man, ‘ Whosoever hateth his brother is a murderer.’ 
Though the count be Satan-incarnate ! though he had gained 
his legal power over poor Elma through fraud, and lies, and 
devilish cruelties ; though such fetters were the most ghastly 
mockery of the God-appointed bond of marriage, which should 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


190 

unite two lives and two hearts; what right had I, to make 
myself her avenger ? Help her, I might and would. To 
rescue her from his power to torture and kill her, was plainly 
my God-given duty, and most overwhelming desire. But until 
God made her free from the fetters which bound her, any 
thoughts of her, save as her guardian and defender, would be 
sin. Ah, Hector, the battles I fought, to conquer my heart ; 
to make me in her presence, the cool-headed, fatherly doctor ; 
to blind myself to those overpowering expressions, which flashed 
in her angelic eyes, and flushed on her cheek ; which my heart 
told me were merely the innocent, childlike demonstrations of* 
the most trustful gratitude ! Those were hours of exquisite 
torture! I was placed on the terrible rack of conflicting emo- 
tions. One moment, catching glimpses of heaven, in the light 
of her seraphic smiles ; the next instant, hurled down to a per- 
dition of hopeless despair ; as I fought in my heart, the demons 
of vengeance and furious hatred ; who came to me, clothed in 
the white garments of justice, and tempted me with their in- 
sidious, and seemingly righteous denunciations of the infamous 
being who was torturing my loved one, and wrecking my happi- 
ness I 

“ The hour had now arrived for the expected return of Lady 
Elma to consciousness. I had banished all from the room 
where the coffin lay, but our mutual helper and friend. For a 
time we gazed with breathless expectancy upon that beautiful 
countenance. Was she already an angel, or still a living woman ? 
Her white hands were- crossed on her breast. Her face, pale 
as death, and her luxuriant golden hair, which was wound 
round her head, seemed a halo of light. A wild fear, for one 
instant, clutched at my heart, as I gazed on her motionless 
form. Had the experiment proved fatal? 

“With a sob in my throat which choked me, and a chill in 
my veins which almost benumbed me, I bent over her in speech- 
less anguish. But no, thank God ! Her eyel^s are quivering ! 
Her breast slightly rises, as a faint sigh escapes her; and oh, 
joy ! — her luminous eyes, dark as the violet depths of the mid- 
night sky, are gazing into my face ; and as consciousness returns, 
there flashes into their azure depths, an electric light of loving 
recognition ; and then they fairly blaze and glow, with a new 
beatific radiance I had never beheld in them before ! ’Tis like 
the fire-light of the opal, v/hich seems to burn from some hidden 
^nd unfathomable spark. Oh, those marvelous eyes of hers. 
Hector ! I have never yet discovered all their mystical lights 


A MOJ^AL iNHEimTANCE: 


igi 

and shadows. But, thank God ! from that hour of renewed 
life, they have never lost their fire — opal glow, which seemed 
from that moment to illumine the depths which had before been 
darkened by the shadows of unutterable woe. 

“ As I gazed for an instant, spellbound by the magnetic at- 
traction of her irresistible eyes, she smiled, and whispered 
faintly : ‘ May Lady Elina now come to life, Doctor ? Oh, I 

have had such a beautiful dream ! ^ 

‘ What was it ? ’ I asked. 

‘ We were in Heaven,’ she murmured, ‘ you and I ! Now 
I know you will save me ! ’ 

‘‘ Again I must conquer the wild throbs of my heart, which, 
since my fears of her death had been turned to such transports 
of joy by the glance of her great gleaming eyes, now sent the 
fiery, tingling blood through every vein in my body. No time 
must be lost! Not one moment, even, could be given to rap- 
turous joy ! With a look, which I tried to make quite calm 
and cold, and in which I felt I had succeeded almost too well, 
as I saw the color die out of her cheeks, and a tear on her 
eyelids, I said : 

‘‘ ‘ Dear Lady Elma, the countess is dead, but we must re- 
member that she is not yet buried ! ’ 

“ Then beckoning to lier friend, she advanced quickly, and 
clasped Lady Elma to her heart, exclaiming : ‘ Don’t talk, 

darling, I know all. We must hasten! At midnight, I must 
leave you. So far all is well.’ 

“ I retired for a time, to learn if the carriage was waiting in 
the grove near the building, with Mr. Melton, the husband of 
Elma’s friend. Having ascertained that all was right, I re- 
turned to Lady Elma’s apartments, and found there still a lady 
in deep mourning, wearing the crape veil ; through whose 
black, sombre folds, no one could possibly discover the features 
of the beautiful Lady Elma. 

With Mrs. Melton’s assistance, I placed in the now empty 
coffin, the necessary articles to ensure the proper weight ; and 
then I closed and fastened down the lid, bearing the title, in 
silver letters, ‘ Countess Benoni ; aged twenty-two years.’ 

‘‘ Having safely secured both doors and windows, so that 
Lady Elma could not be surprised in my absence ; I attended 
Mrs. Melton to the carriage, where she was met by her hus- 
band, and they drove away unobserved. 

“ I now returned to Lady Elma’s apartments, and inform- 
ing her that I would watch in the outer room where the coffin 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


192 

lay, I told her that she might safely rest in the inner apart- 
ment ; keeping herself veiled, however, in case of sudden sur- 
prise. Only once were we disturbed. Hearing a slight noise 
at the door, I partially opened it, avid found there the nurse 
who had been most faithful in the care of the countess. With 
tears in her eyes, she handed to me a wreath of orange blossoms, 
wliich she had picked in the grove, wliere I had met our lady 
of the Blue Grotto. She begged that they should be laid 
in the poor lady’s coffin. I thanked her, and closing the 
door, 1 carried them to Lady Elma, telling her who had 
brought them. 

‘‘ A flush first mantled her face. Then a small spot of red 
seemed to burn in each cheek, and her eyes grew distended 
with horror. ’Twas only for an instant. Then with a lumin- 
ous smile, and the opal-light in her eyes, she looked up in my 
face, saying : 

‘‘‘Excuse me, Doctor! But an orange-wreath^ — of all 
things ! — What pitiful mockery ! ’ Then with softening tones : 
‘ Poor creature 1 she. thought I was fond of them, because I 
sometimes asked her to pluck them for me. I w^as fond of 
them, for they were the symbol to me, of my vanished ideal 
of love and happiness. I loved them as I would love the 
blossoms wdiich grow on the grave of my father. But oh. 
Doctor, I could never have w^oven them into a wreath ! — why, 
only brides wear wreaths of orange blossoms — not a dead 
countess! ’ Then, as though hushed into silence by a rush of 
hidden thoughts, she buried her face in the blossoms; and 
when she looked up, her eyes shone like sapphires, as she 
murmured: ‘I will keep them, kind Doctor, in memory of 
my marvelous magician ! — so mighty to save I — perhaps you 
can bring dead ideals also to life I ’ 

“ I dared not answer her ; but as I walked back, to pace up 
and down by her empty coffin, a thought was whispered to my 
heart; wdiich T received as an angel’s message of hope and 
love, and made me strong to be faithful. For I felt an assur- 
ance, that sometime! — perchance in Heaven, as she liad 
dreamed ; — but sometime I — and oh, I felt the bliss of that 
sometime w^as worth a lifetime of weaiy waiting ; — I should 
And my heart’s love ; and she wmuld have the violet eyes, wdth 
the opal firelight, and tlie radiant image of my Elma ! — 
Mine! she wmuld be then, free to love ; — tliroughout an eter- 
nity of bliss. Should God not will tliat we should meet on this 
earth, Heaven would be ours together. And if she could not 


A MORAL mMLRITANCE. I93 

wear the wreath of orange blossoms as my earthly bride, she 
would wear the glorious crown of our immortal love. 

‘‘We had one more day of trial still before us. The funeral 
services must be gone through with. As the first pale pink 
tints of the wakening dawn tinged the east, I went to the 
window and lifted the curtain. Yonder was the city of Flor- 
ence ! Florence — the city of floAvers ! Henceforth, the name 
would bring to my memory, visions of woe and of rapture. 
Did the future hold happiness, or misery? Were the glowing 
tints of the eastern sky, now effulgenf with the golden light of 
the rising sun, a prophecy of the dawning of a new day of our 
hopes and happiness ? — or, was that closed coffin, in the dark- 
ened room behind me, an emblem of our perished and buried 
dreams of earthly bliss ? 

“ As I turned from the window. Lady Elma stood by my side ; 
and I perceived the perfume of orange blossoms about her gar- 
ments, though they also were mourning habiliments of bereav- 
ment. Still the fragrance of love’s flower was in their som- 
bre folds, and a tiny Avhite blossom nestled amidst the black 
lace encircling her soft white throat. Would she wear the 
wreath, yet? She had never worn a bridal-wreath. Poor 
child ! §he was married in black garments, by her father’s 
death-bed. A black wedding-dress ! Omen of evil from the 
first! Would she ever wear an earthly bridal-dress of Avhite? 
— or would it be only the robe of an angelic spirit? Pointing 
to the rising sun, I said : ‘ Only one more day of trial. Lady 
Elma ! Can you bear it ? ’ 

“ ‘ Oh, yCvS, Doctor ! ’ she cried, with flushing cheek ; ‘ I 
am strong enough to brave anything with you at my side ! ’ 

“ Oh, Hector, her very loving confidence was exquisite tor- 
ture! Poor inconstant human nature! I would be to her a 
fatherly protector, her guardian, and tender physician ! And 
then, when her grateful young spirit, with child-like enthu- 
siasm, acknowledged my fostering care, and showed her trust- 
ful dependence upon me, my weak heart faltered ; and the 
cool-headed physician, Avho could use the surgeon’s knife with- 
out the trembling of a nerve, became unmanned by one glance 
from her lustrous eyes ! But, thank God ! no sign of my 
secret escaped me ; and Elma has since told me, that she was 
sometimes quite grieved by my cold reception of her fervent 
expressions of gratitude for my efforts in her behalf. Dear 
child ! she did not know that my heart was torn with the wild- 

13 


194 


A AWRAL INHERITANCE. 


est emotions, when I screened my feelings under the most 
stoical mask of professional care. 

All preparations had been made for the burial service. As 
the asylum was several miles from the city, the officials had 
arranged with the count, that the coffin should be taken in the 
early morning, directly to the cathedral, in wdiich was the 
family vault. Under the circumstances, the count wished her 
burial to be as private as possible. For, having within a few 
years lost two young American wives, by death, in this mad 
house ; it was for his interest, to occasion as little gossip as 
possible ; for much comment, might prevent a third victim 
from becoming his prey. So none were to witness the burial, 
but a few of his relations, who were leagued with him in all 
his nefarious schemes. 

“When the time arrived for starting, the asylum officials ex- 
pressed some surprise as they observed the closed coffin. But 
I said that the countess had requested me, in such a case as 
liad arisen, that I should close her coffin in the presence of her 
American friend only ; and I added, that as the count and his 
relations had expressed no concern in the matter, I had obeyed 
lier wish. 

“ The coffin was then placed in the waiting liearse, and Lady 
Elma and I entered a carriage, while the asylum officials took 
another, and we followed the hearse to the Cathedral. As 
Elma was a Protestant, and as the count’s evil schemes did not 
happen to require his forcing her to become a Catholic, we liad 
been spared any attendance of priests at her supposed death- 
bed, and this circumstance left us greater freedom in carrying 
out our plans. 

Strange ride we were now taking, in the sweet cool air of 
the early morning ! To the world, there was nothing uncom- 
mon in the sight of a hearse, and two closed carriages follow- 
ing. But to us ! — Lady Elma, and I ! She, — accompanying 
her own coffin, marked with her high-titled name ; which to 
her, was only the stigma of shame, the remainder of woes so 
unutterable, of anguish so appalling, as to have exceeded all 
her most ghastly suspicions of the horrors of an Inferno ; — 
not yet hardly daring to hope that the hour of deliverance had 
indeed really come ! I, — torn with conflicting emotions of 
sorrow and joy ! Fearing, and hoping ! Now trembling with 
sudden alarm, then lulled to a blissful content, as I gazed on 
her beautiful face! 

“And so we rode into Florence I — Florence, the city of 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


195 


flowers! Did its bright skies prophesy peace; or would some 
spectre of danger arise to cojifront us with more harrowing 
terrors ? Arrived at the cathedral, the asylum })hysiciaiis 
lifted the coffin from the hearse, and bore it through the broad 
aisle, into a small chapel at one side, where was the family 
crypt. As we followed, I felt the hand of Lady Elma, which 
leaned on my arm, tremble with fear. Softly I whispered : 

‘‘ ‘ Have courage, dear child ! They will not discover you ! 
The trial is most over 1 ’ 

“ ‘ Oh Doctor,’ she murmured, ‘ must I look on his terrible 
face ? ’ 

“ ^ No, dear Lady Elma ! ’ I answered. ‘ Close your eyes I 
I will lead you. You need see nothing. I promised, you 
remember, that you never need gaze on his fiendish counte- 
nance again I ’ 

“ As my companion was supposed to be only an old Amer- 
ican friend of the countess, it was not necessary that we should 
approach very near the count and his relations ; and standing 
so that Lady Elma was almost concealed by a sheltering pillar, 
we listened to the solemn chant of the burial service. As the 
words, ‘ Dust to dust ! ’ fell upon my ear, the fragrance of 
orange blossoms w^as wafted to my senses; and I saw the s-weet 
flower still gleaming, like a white star of love and of life, 
through the black folds of crape which shrouded the dear form 
beside me. Again hope illumined the future before us! 

‘‘ Slowly the ominous coffin was lowered into the vault. At 
last, it was over ! and still our secret was safe ! I gave one 
glance toward the count, wffio stood at the head of the grave. 
His diabolical face was lurid with the baffled passions of avarice, 
and fiendish cruelty. Oh, what new tortures would that demon 
have inflicted upon this delicate creature, if aught should over 
occur to again deliver her into his power. But no ! thnt 
would not be ! A merciful God would prevent it ! 

Almost as unnerved ns the poor darling who trembled 
beside me, I laid my hand on her arm with a reassuring pres- 
sure ; and calmly — apparently — and slowly we walked through 
the long aisle of the ancient cathedral, and with a sigh of 
exquisite relief entered the carriage, and rode quickly away 
from that place so ominous with dangers and evils. As we 
once again breathed the pure air of bright Florence, it seemed 
as though we had suddenly arisen from some infernal abyss in 
the dark regions of Hades, and were basking in the light and 
the beauty of Paradise.” 


ig6 


A MORAL INHERITAACE. 


‘‘Why, Doc., old fellow, what’s the matter? You are as 
white as a sheet, and your eyes glare like a madman’s ? ” in> 
terrupted Hector. 

“ ’Tis nothing, Hector, I will be myself again in a moment. 
But the memory of that awful time of fear and anguish, al- 
ways unmans me. Oh, if there are special places of torment 
for the archfiends in hell. Count Bononi has received his re- 
ward ! 

“ But my dire temptations were not over, I liad left Lady 
Elma safe with her friends, Mr. and Mrs. Melton, who would 
start with her for America in a short time. That same evening 
I was walking alone through a street in Florence, where I had 
some important business ; and as I drew near a building, in 
which I knew there was a hidden gambling den, I saw two 
men approaching. Then they stepped aside into the shadow 
of the building, and I perceived by their tones and their oaths, 
that they were quarreling. Just as I passed them, one of 
them lifted his arm, with a terrible curse, and I beheld a stil- 
etto gleam in the light of the moon, which suddenly broke 
through the clouds. At that moment, also, I caught a glimpse 
of the face of the man whose life he thus threatened. It was 
the villainous Count Benoni ! For an instant, I felt a thrill 
of joy, as the thought flashed across my mind, that now our 
wicked tormentor would forever be put out of our way. But 
with the evil temptation, came also the power to conquer it; 
and just as the point of the dagger was aimed at the throat of 
the count, I rushed between him and his murderer ; and strik- 
ing the uplifted arm of the drunken Italian gambler, the stil- 
etto fell from his grasp to the pavement below, and the life of 
the count was preserved. I was weak enough, God knows ! 
I hated him as I hated the devil 1 But I had once fought 
that battle with my tempters, and, henceforth, I would leave 
my vengeance to be meted out by God’s providence. For I 
felt sure, only thus could I look for my future of happiness, 
with the angelic spirit whom He had allowed me to rescue.” 

“ Well, what did the infernal count say to his magnanimous 
preserver ? ” inquired Hector. 

“ Oh, I received only a drunken curse for my trouble,” re- 
sumed Dr. Wentworth. But that was no matter. It was 
the good to my own heart, which rewarded me ; and when again 
I saw Elina’s dear face, I blessed God that my soul was not 
stained with the sin of being a willing witness of the awful 
crime of murder, even though the wretched victim would have 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


19; 


so richly deserved his fate. And I knew that in spite of all 
that Lady Elnia had suffered, her pure soul would shrink from 
me if she thought I was even indirectly stained with the blood 
of another, though that one should have been her cruel tor- 
mentor. 

“ But God’s vengeance follow^ed him soon ! It seems, his 
suspicions were aroused in some manner, regarding the sup- 
posed death of the countess ; and with the hope that it might 
still lay in his power to enjoy her fortune ; after learning from 
the asylum doctors, that no post mortem examination had been 
made, and that the coffin had been closed in their absence ; he 
went with them to the cathedral, at night, to satisfy himself 
regarding this matter. But Providence watched over us I 

‘"Just as the coffin w^as lifted from its resting-place in the 
vault, and as the lid was about to be unfastened ; a loaded pis- 
tol fell from the breast-pocket of the count, wdio w^as bending 
above it ; and striking the silver letters of the ominous title, 
which had bound poor Elma with its torturing chains of false- 
hood, and crime ; the w^eapon w'as discharged, sending its 
avenging bullet into the evil-plotting brain of the count, kill- 
ing him instantly. 

“The asylum doctors, not caring to continue the investiga- 
tion, once again lowered the unopened coffin to its place in 
the vault ; and the dead count now^ lies powerless for evil, be- 
side it. 

“ When the news of this startling event reached us, I de- 
termined to sail for America on the same steamer with Mr. 
and Mrs. Melton, and their beautiful charge, so providentially 
restored to her freedom. Now I could honorably enjoy her 
sweet presence, which, beyond my necessary professional care 
in securing her rescue, would have been ignoble wdiile that man 
w^as her husband in the eyes of the law\ ' Notwithstanding the 
hollow mockery — the sacred ordinance of marriage had been 
spoken over their heads ! As the very success of my attempts 
to rescue her from his power to torture her, demanded that no 
legal measures to free her be taken, she could only be re- 
leased from her bondage by the hand of a pitying God, Who 
does hear the cry of His children, and will answer their pray- 
ers, though devils array themselves against them ! Perhaps 
not in their way ; but to those who can trust Him, it will surely 
be revealed at the last, to have been the best way. And wdth 
the trusting, comes comfort and peace, and patience to w^ait 
and not falter ; and, also, a strength of mind, and the needed 




A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


gift of wisdom, to do wliat lies in tlieir power to help answer 
the prayer. 

“ Only once, while she was still bound by legal ties to an- 
other, had I allowed my love, for a moment, to conquer me ! 
I had held her as some ethereal, angelic spirit beyond me ; 
even when the glance of her large lustrous eyes, or the touch 
of her delicate finger-tips, sent the blood thrilling through my 
veins ; then seemed to suddenly chill me, as though some 
spectre had touched me. But just once, when she lay there in 
her coffin, unconscious, and her beautiful face seemed that of 
a seraph ; vffien alone with her for a moment, I bent over and 
kissed her. Surely, thus I might venture to caress her this 
once, as she seemed like one dead, in her coffin. But the shock 
which followed my rash deed, as though an electric fire had 
touched me, revealed to my conscience my weakness ; and 
penitent, and trembling, I prayed : ‘ Oh, God ! deny me not 

the bliss of my love for her ! But give me strength to resist 
all temptations to sin ! ’ 

‘‘But now I was free to gaze on her beautiful features, and 
thrill at the touch of her hand, without wronging her soul, or 
my honor. Of course, after our tragical acquaintance, any 
immediate demonstrations of love on my part would seem ill- 
timed, especially, as I did not yet know the state of her feel- 
ings toward me. Her earnest expressions of gratitude, I had 
no right to mistake for a warmer affection. Though no loyalty 
of heart bound her still to the dead, I would not wrong her 
pure soul, by imagining that she had allowed herself to recognize 
any feeling, save one of grateful and friendly affection toward 
a devoted protector, while still she was fettered by the chains 
of a recognized law. But now I was free to lay aside the dig- 
nified coldness of manner, becoming in her guardian and physi- 
cian, and to approach her as a friend. And if I should see a 
light in her shining sapphire eyes, which might betoken some- 
thing warmer than friendship, she w^ould then find in me her 
most worshipful adorer. 

“ So our little party of four departed from direful, though 
beautiful Florence ; and left in that dark vault of the ancient 
cathedral, our buried woes, and our death-chained tormentor ; 
turning our faces toward that bright land of promise, o’er 
which floated the star-studded symbol of freedom’s pure light. 

“ I can’t tell even you, Hector, of our courtship. Those 
things are too sacred for the ear of even the closest of friends. 
In about a year, w^e were married ; and thus our lady of the 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


199 


Blue Grotto, became my idolized wife. But it is late ! Elma 
will be waiting. And to tell the truth, I long for a glimpse of 
her dear beautiful face, to drive away the harrowing phan- 
toms which my memory has revived, as I have been telling 
you her story.” 

Yes, Doc., I agree with you. It will even be a relief to 
me, to see again the light in her eyes, after these terrible pic- 
tures you have drawm of her past sorrows. But indeed, Doc., 
you old generous fellow, I don’t wonder that she seems to 
adore you ! ” 

The two gentlemen had now returned to the villa, and as 
they entered the parlor, Elma rose with a smile to welcome 
them. 

“I am late, dearest wife,” said Dr. Wentworth, ‘‘but I’ve 
been telling our story to my old friend here.” 

“Oh, I am so glad ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Wentworth, as she 
gazed upward to the manly face of her husband, with a look 
of proud adoration. “ But, Mr. Ormandoff, you should hear 
my side of the story ; for I know this dear, unselfish man, has 
only revealed a faint glimpse of his devoted efforts in my be- 
half. Ah, I will yet sketch for you some time, the picture of 
my Hero I My cliivalrous Knight ! My marvelous Magician ! 
Did I not say he was mighty to save ? ” 

^ “ Oh, you dear little flatterer I ” interrupted her husband, as 
he fondly laid his hand on her shoulc]er. “ I have already 
told Hector enougli of my poor humble self, for one wliile. 
But Elma, though it is late, I feel the need of being soothed 
by your music. Are you too weary, love, to play and sing for 
us, if I bring your harp out on the veranda, where we can 
enjoy the music and moonlight together?” 

“ Remember, I am never weary, when I can rest you, Eg- 
bert, dear ! ” replied Elma, passing through tjie open window, 
to her favorite seat upon the veranda ; where her husband had 
placed her harp, and had throwni himself in a hammock, swing- 
ing beside her. Hector Orman dorff had chosen a place apart, 
in the shadow, where he could watch this pleasing picture so 
unconsciously artistically arranged ; for he admired the beauti- 
ful, and the sight of this happy couple filled his unselfish heart 
with pleasure, even while he sadly remembered his own dark- 
ened life. 

During the absence of the gentlemen on their evening stroll, ' 
Mrs. Wentworth had changed her formal dinner-dress, for an 
elegant negligie of soft wldte wool, boxxlered with swan’s down. 


200 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


And now, as the sweet strains of music were swept from the 
strings of the harp, by the delicate touch of her fingers ; the 
Fairy of Fancy sketched, with the pencils of imagination and 
memo^’y, three pictures in the minds of the listeners. 

In Hector’s picture were two scenes. One represented the 
famous Blue Grotto, with its underground shadows ; and a lady 
in black, whose beautiful face wore a look of hopeless despair. 
The other, was the real picture before him. This radiant 
woman in white, with soft rounded arms uplifted, and face 
luminous in the light of the moon ; with a background behind 
her of towering mountains, their snow-crowned peaks piercing 
the clouds. Once, the Lady of the Grotto ! — now the Lady of 
the Glen ! Once, imprisoned in a dungeon of affliction ! — 
now, sheltered safe in the beautiful Valley of Peace ; guarded by 
the overlasting Mountains of Delight, whose towering peaks 
are gilded by the rays of light which shine through the dark 
clouds of sorrow, which sometimes seem to shroud the face of 
a beneficent Providence. 

In Dr. Egbert Wentworth’s picture, memory held the pen- 
cil. The scene represented the deck of . the steamer upon 
which Elma and he were seated, during that memorable voy- 
age to America. It was the hour of sunset. The distant 
horizon was aglow with the warm blushes of roseate color, as 
the departing sun-god lavished upon cloud and upon wave, his 
fickle, but amorous caressing. Now, he hid his face in deep 
maroon shadows ; then, flooded the sky with warm rays of 
light ; which tinted the cheeks of the cloud-sprites with pink, 
and gleamed in the gold of their hair, and glowed in the blue 
of their eyes, and glimmered in the folds of their snowy cloud- 
garments, which trailed on the sky. And he gilded their soft 
white misty couches, and then, with a parting caress, he wrap- 
ped them in rainbow-hued mantles ; and silvering the water 
beneath them, so it should mirror their exquisite loveliness ; 
he vanished, and left them to grow cold, and gray, and lifeless, 
when deprived of his warm, life-giving caresses. Then the 
full moon arose, turning the shimmering marks of the pathway 
their ship had cut through the waters, into a long line of 
silver; and scattering myriad diamond-points of iridescent 
light, amongst the foaming spray which dashed against the 
sides of their fast sailing steamer. While, gazing far over the 
waters, hushed to silence by the mystical spell of enchant- 
ment, they beheld the Star of the Evening, which shone 

like a tear ” in the deep blue eye of the heavens. 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


201 


Moved by tins radiant picture of beauty, and drawn by the 
magnetic attraction of the dear presence beside him, he could 
no longer restrain his emotions ; and bending toward the beau- 
tiful face near him, he whispered : 

Elma ! My darling ! F rom the first moment I gazed 
into your angelic face, I felt that I had met my ideal of 
womanly loveliness ! And though I might never know you on 
earth, in Heaven our souls would be one 1 As long as you 
were not free to love me, I buried my secret in silence. For- 
give me, if I have spoken too soon 1 I will wait till your 
heart bids you speak ; only give me one glance, as a token 
that, perchance, my waiting may not be in vain ! ’’ 

As for the first time he thus called her Elma, he saw the 
color mantle her cheeks ; but her matchless eyes were down- 
cast, gazing into the blue depths of the sea, and he could not 
read their story. But as he begged for one glance, those large 
lustrous eyes were upturned to his face, and he was almost 
startled to behold the fire which glowed in their sapphire-hued 
depths. For one instant, she seemed to gaze into the very 
depths of his soul. Then she bent her beautiful head, while 
the white downcast lids, like soft rose petals, half closed over 
her gleaming eyes ; till the long, dark lashes lay on her round 
tinted cheeks, and a tear glistened amidst their shadowing 
fringes. 

A silence, for a moment, hovered o’er them ; but it was a 
silence vibrating with mystical music, attuned to the ear of the 
soul, and ’trancing their ethereal senses with a dream of a 
Love-land of rapture, where their spirits would bask in the 
light of a God-given bliss. 

As the soft strains of her harp how mingled with those un- 
heard notes of memory’s music, he seeme^, once again, with a 
thrill of emotion, to hear her sweet voice saying, with the 
same tones which before had enchanted his senses with their 
vibrating cadences : I said I would bless you forever, when 

you came to me as my Deliverer ! But oh, Egbert ! My 
King ! I did not know then how my heart would soon learn 
to love you as the very light of my life ! ” 

tie had thought she was beautiful then. But now, as he 
gazed on the radiant face of his wife, so adored in his heart 
that even his courtship paled in the light and the rapture of his 
realized dreams, she seemed transfigured before him ; and ap- 
peared no longer a woman, but rather, a white-robed angel, 
with the immortal light from God’s throne, already encircling 


202 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


her brow ; as with ethereal fingers, she swept her heavenly 
harp-strings, and joined in the song of the seraphic host. And 
so real seemed the vision, that he started ; and laying his 
hand with thrilling touch on her arm, he whispered : 

‘‘ Oh, my idolized wife! You look so like an angel, you 
frighten me ! ” 

Quickly, she turned her eyes from the distant mountain- 
peaks, where she had been gazing with a dreamy expression of 
reverie ; and into their blue depths, flashed again the opal fire- 
light, as she murmured : 

‘‘ My heart’s love 1 My husband ! I was dreaming again 
that beautiful dream I had once before, you remember. You 
and I were together in Heaven. But instead of being angelic 
spirits, as then we seemed in my vision, I thought our heaven 
was on earth. It was a Garden of Eden I And I felt your 
warm kiss on my lips, and heard your dear voice wdiisper: ‘ My 
Elrna! Beloved wife of my heart ! ’ ” 

Then Doctor and Mrs. Wentworth turned to their guest, 
and with self-forgetful courtesy, entertained him for a time, 
until the late hour necessitated their return to the parlor. 

The next day, Hector Ormandoff bid farewell to his friends, 
and started again upon his travels. 



A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


203 


(v 

CHAPTER XIL 

Hector Ormandoff determined to make his home in Den- 
ver, Colorado. In that growing city there . seemed to offer just 
the opportunity required for a young lawyer. After a few 
days spent at the principal hotel, wliile looking for less expen- 
sive and more permanent accommodations. Hector moved into 
a quiet boarding-house, and opened an office in the city. A 
few days after, he chanced to be sitting in the hotel reading- 
room, engaged in letter-writing, when he ovej’heard a portion 
of the conversation of two gentlemen who sat near one of tlie 
windows. 

“ I noticed,’’ said one of the gentlemen, a name on the 
hotel register, the owner of which I would give much to see. 
But as the clerk says the gentleman left the hotel the day 
before we arrived, I cannot find out whether he is in tlie city 
or not.” 

“ What is the name ? ” inquired the other. 

‘‘Hector Ormandoff,” replied the first gentleman, “and I 
am intensely sorry to have missed him, as I had important 
information to give him.” , 

Hector immediately gave close attention to the remarks of 
the gentlemen, but resolved to wait a few moments before dis- 
closing his identity, hoping to hear something of the reason for 
this uncommon interest in himself evinced by a stranger. He 
glanced keenly at the men, but became convinced that he had 
never seen either of them before. He therefore apparently 
resumed his letter-writing, listening intently meanwhile. 

“ It was a very strange case,” said the first gentleman. “ I 
was in Australia last year, and by chance I was called to the 
dying bed of a poor man in one of the hospitals. Physicians 
are always liable to be provided with patients, even when 
traveling for one’s health, as I was then. I w^as visiting the 
hospital at the time, and the resident doctor could not be 
obtained as quickly as the case demanded. The man had been 
brought to the hospital in a dying condition, having been 
fatally injured in a mine explosion. Perceiving that his case 


204 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


was hopeless from the first, I asked him if he had anything 
particular to say, or any important message to send to his 
friends. Housing himself with effort he replied : ‘ I lost all 
my friends through a bad woman. But before I die, I would 
like to do justice to an innocent man who has suffered through 
my sin. I haven’t got much strength to talk. A few words 
will do for a confession. I met in London the woman who 
ruined my life. Blanche Whorton was her name when I knew 
her. I haven’t got breath to tell all about it. I loved her. 
She wanted to be rich. She persuaded me to rob a bank 
there, and we fled witli the money so obtained. Afterwards, 
when we quarreled, and I reproached her for the loss of my 
honesty, she boasted that she had ruined the good name of a 
much better man than I was, and told me of a young lawyer, 
named Hector Ormandoff, whom she had employed on legal 
business, and then sent him for his pay, all the marked bills 
which were among those I stole for her from the bank. This, 
of course, as she expected, caused his arrest, and he was tried 
for the robbery. I don’t know whether he was acquitted or 
not ; for after the money was gone, Blanche deserted me, and 
I drifted out here. Though I w^as a thief, I don’t like to die 
without righting that poor young^ man, if possible, who w^as 
entirely innocent. If you can ever hear of him, repeat my 
confession to him.’ The poor fellow soon breathed his last, 
exhausted by this effort to clear the innocent.” 

I do not wonder that you are disappointed in just missing 
this Hector Ormandoff,” said the second gentleman. 

Hector had heard enough. Rising quickly, he approached 
the physician, with pale cheek, but flashing eye, exclaiming : 

I am the Hector Ormandoff whom you seek. My poor 
mother said, wdth her dying breath, ‘Trust God! All will 
yet be well I ’ — But I couldn’t see how I should ever prove my 
innocence ! ” 

His Avhole form quivered with emotion as he spoke, and 
the elderly physician rose immediately, and grasped his hand 
with earnestness, as he said : 

“My dear young man, I know something how you have 
suffered, for I have experienced what it is to be falsely accused. 
It is one of the keenest tortures of life. What can I do now 
for you ? ” . 

“ If you wdll kindly wTite a statement of that dying man’s 
confession, I think my innocence can be proved,” said Hector^ 


A MORAL IiVHERITANCE. 205 

who appeared already to have grown an inch taller, and car- 
ried his head with the old pose of recovered pride. 

‘‘ I will do it immediately,” replied the friendly physician, 
sympathizing with the young man’s vehement haste to have his 
good name cleared from the sliadows, by means of the light of 
truth. 

By that very evening’s mail, went the important letter to 
London, freighted with its momentous message. 

When the authorities of the defrauded bank learned the 
facts, they were eager to atone for their unjust accusations ; 
and as wide a publicity was given to the confession of the 
thief, as had been given to the false rumor against the inno- 
cent. 

The notoriety occasioned by this vindication of his charac- 
ter, brought Hector into prominence, and he soon obtained all 
the professional business he could attend to. 

When the news reached Antoinette and Aseneith, the girls 
embraced each other with tears of joy, and Antoinette cried : 
‘‘ I always told Hector, the idea of his committing such a crime 
was absurd ! ” 

And Aseneith declared ; I never doubted him for an in- 
stant ! ” 

With the warm congratulations sent to Hector by his sister 
and his friend, there was wafted to his heart also, a heavenly 
echo — “ Trust God I All will yet be well ! ” and Hector fell 
on his knees, and thanked his mother’s God with a grateful 
heart; and solemnly consecrated to His service that life, which 
through a kind Providence, had again become valuable in Hec- 
tor’s sight, and perchance, destined to bless the world. 

In the midst of his exaltation, there flashed through his 
mind, a sad longing. “ Oh, if mother had only lived to know 
that I was vindicated ! ” he murmured, bitterly. Then, with 
submissive faith, he added : “ Well, perhaps she knows it in 
Paradise ! At least, it is known to God, and He may pei ad- 
venture reveal it to her.” 

How brightly glowed the sunshine ! How ^ayly the birds 
sang ! How lovely the flowers appeared, to the relieved heart 
of Hector, as he once again walked the earth with an elastic 
step, and felt he could confidently face the world, strong in his 
acknowledged integrity. For, though a person may be (^ntirely 
innocent, a false accusation can bow the head, unnerve the 
soul, and even blast the life or the tortured sufferer. Words 
seem often but empty things ; but false words can wreck the 


206 


A 3I0RAL INHERITANCE. 

earthly reputation, love, and happiness. But, thank God! 
even false, words cannot wreck a character in the eyes of Him 
wlioknoweth all things. For God judges character by the un- 
seen motives ; not by the false opinions of men. 

“ Tliou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor ! 
For I, the Lord thy God, am a jealous God, visiting the in- 
iipiity of the fathers upon the children, unto the third and 
fourth generation of them that hate me ; and showing mercy 
uiito thousands of them that love me apd keep my command- 
ments I ’’ 

Once again, hope illumined the dreams of Hector. Once 
again, love and happiness might be realized. Work now be- 
came inspiration. Labor w^as delight. What appeared ardu- 
ous to him, before his bitter trials, now rested only with a 
feather’s weight upon his spirits. As old Cromwell said: ‘‘He 
could not but smile out to God in praises I ” 

He felt himself to be a new creature; as though he had been 
dead, and suddenly resurrected. No efforts appeared too great 
to be encountered, in the service of that loving Father, who 
had given to him new life and hope. He did not rely upon his 
own strength, in fighting the battle of life. His daily mottoes 
were : “ Trust God ! ” and “ Ponder the path of thy feet, and 
let all thy ways be established.’’ 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


207 


CHAPTER XIIL 

Three years had passed since Antoinette and Hector arrived 
in America. Hector was now established with his sister, in 
a modest but pleasant home in Denver. It was the month of 
June. Hector and Antoinette were seated at the breakfast 
table. After reading the letter which Antoinette found await- 
ing her, by the side of lier coffee urn, she exclaimed, with a 
sparkle of her old fun lighting up her sweet face, where sad- 
ness and grief had left hallowing, not marring, shadows: 

“ Hector, dear. I’ve a favor to ask.” 

“Well, Toy, what is the mighty favor?” Then, as mem- 
ory flashed a light across his mind, recalling that same ques- 
tion from his sister upon a former occasion, and noting the 
twinkle in her eye, he cried ; “ Is Aseneith coming to visit 

you again?” 

“Yes, Hector dear ! May the Goddess of Intellect receive 
your welcome ? ” 

Bless her dear heart ! ” exclaimed Hector. “ The Lord 
sent her to you before, and I know He is sending her to me 
now. Do you think there is hope for me in that quarter, lit- 
tle one?” inquired Hector, with such sweet persuasiveness of 
voice, as would have assuredly quickly settled the matter, if 
Aseneitli Allan had been there to hear it. 

“ You will never know till you try, brother mine ! ” said 
Antoinette, laughing ; “ but just to give you a grain of com- 
fort, I will venture to prophesy, that ‘ stranger things than that 
have happened.’ But I would suggest, however,” Toy added, 
with a return of her old sarcastic fun, “ that it might be as well 
for you to delay attempting to storm the citadel of her affec- 
tions, until she is safely ensconced under my sheltering wing, 
and blessed with my persuasive presence. I merely would 
suggest, that the Garden of the Gods, by moonlight, might be 
more romantic than the railway depot, for such a denouement. 
For as you have to meet her at the latter place this afternoon, 
and act as her escort to our family domicile, I thought that 
perhaps your impetuous nature might fail to realize, that a girl 


2o8 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


who has traveled over the plains alone, and been three nights 
in sleeping cars — though Pullman may term them palaces — is 
perhaps not in tlie most romantic mood for a hasty disposal of 
her hand and heart, even though the fond wooer be your own 
lordly self.’’ 

“ You’re right, little one ! ” said Hector, with a fond glance 
toward his devoted, and much loved sister. But I would 
beg leave to inform you, that I also have a letter ; not from the 
Goddess of Intellect, but from my old friend, Professor Thomas 
Evermond, who will also arrive at Denver by the same train, 
and who is also to be my guest. Ha ! blushing, little one ! 
Now it is my turn to talk of Gardens of the Gods, and moon- 
light, et cetera! But 1 will spare you.” 

“ What can bring the professor Ijere?” remarked Antoin- 
ette, in confusion ; through which, however, there might be 
detected pleasure, rather than displeasure. “I met him in 

Niagara, you remember, and ” 

Yes, I know, little one ! But it seems that he does not 
think that he has received his final walking papers. He wrote 
me all about it. ‘ Your devotion to me,’ ‘ Couldn’t marry 
any one, — and so forth. I decidedly agree with the professor, 
much as I shall hate to part with you, little one ! But good 
husbands are better than the best of brothers, after all. So 
I’ll go to the depot to meet our friends, and we will after- 
wards arrange a quartette expedition to the Garden of the 
Gods.” 

Two days after Aseneith’s arrival at the home of the Or- 
mandoffs, Antoinette received a letter from Lucille Fielding. 
Lucille wrote in answer to Antoinette’s question, why she had 
never manned. 

‘‘Well, this letter is just like Lucille,” said Antoinette, to 
Aseneith. “ Just listen.” 

‘ You kindly inquire, among other items of consequence, why I 
am still an old maid. Well, I might propound to you the same 
weighty question, but there are rumors in the air, regardinga learned 
professor, and I forbear, and straightway come to my own confes- 
sion. In the first place, the gay party which met at your English 
home, some years ago, you remember, paired off in couples ; which 
seemed to have been, in most cases, arranged by the hand of a kind 
destiny, so far as sequels have demonstrated. But my unfortunate 
self, you remember, was, without wish or will of my own, assigned 
to a faithless doctor ; who, unmindful of my fascinating charms, did, 


A MORAL INHERITAACL. 


20g 


with cruel indifference, desert me for another, more fair, known as 
the Lady pf the Blue Grotto, leaving me to pine in single blessed- 
ness. Regarding your friendly insinuations, that I may, perchance, 
be missing my true vocation ; I would rise to remark, that if having 
a clamoring family, be the mission of lovely woman, 1 have not 
failed there. One thousand children, in kitchen-gardens, day nur- 
series, and orphan asylums, require my constant supervision, which 
I think will prove sufidcient to promote the exercise of my keenest 
faculties, in the direction of helping to train the young in the way 
they should go, even though I fail of women^s mission of being a 
wife and mother. Then again, as it is said that females exceed 
males, in the human race, I am evincing my unselfishness in leaving 
my lordly partner for life to some other woman, who perhaps could 
not so well maintain her independence, as your humble servant. 
Some doves must bill and coo in cosy cottages, and some must face 
the world alone. And I happen to have been given the latter lot. 
When you and the professor are safely settled, and require the aid of 
an old maid friend, in any emergency, let me know ; and I will fly 
across -the Atlantic, on the wings of devotion, and prove to you the 
use of spinister friends.’ ” 

How like Lucille!’’ said Aseneith, laughing. ‘‘I am 
coming to the conclusion, that there is a lofty and unselfish 
mission for old maids, which places them on the pinnacle of 
self-sacrifice. So if I shall continue in their ranks, I have a 
band of heroic sisters to keep me company.^’ 

“Hector seems to think he has something to say regarding 
such a possibility, Neith dear ! ” rejoined Antoinette. “ I fear 
you have not only subjugated his intellect by your mental pow- 
ers, but have also exerted some magic spell over his heart. 
But I will let him manage his own heart affairs, for even a 
sister cannot safely meddle there.” 

* * * * * >tc 

Two weeks after this, our quartette party started for an ex- 
pedition to the famous Garden of the Gods. They left Den- 
ver in the morning, and took the train for Colorado 
Springs. The party had been invited to visit Doctor and Mrs. 
Egbert Wentworth, in their charming retreat at Glen Eyrie. 

The ride along this road is magnificent. On clear days, 
tliere is a fine view of the Rockies all the way. Old Pike’s 
Peak looms up above them all, and is visible during the 
greater part of the journey. There is one strange mountain 
peak, entirely bare of trees and vegetation, which rises up 
like a great castle, with turrets, towers, and massive walls. 

Having arrived at Colorado Springs, the party left the train 
and took a carriage to ride through the delightful country to 


210 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


the Garden of the Gods. The landscape spread out before 
them was enchanting. 

How beautiful ! exclaimed Aseneith, enthusiastically. 

“ Wait until you have seen our matchless Garden of the 
Gods ! ” said Antoinette. 

After leaving the level plain, which extended as far as the 
eye could reach in every direction, bounded on the distant 
horizon by the encircling mountains, they commenced to ap- 
proach the foothills. As they came upon the higher ground, 
the landscape was superb. Far in the distance loomed up the 
snow-capped summit of Pike’s Peak. The more distant 
mountains before them, were dimly purple in the background, 
and those nearer were draped in tints of grayish blue, 
while those nearest, were green with pines and underbrush, 
while the plains and meadows behind them, displayed all shades 
of green, with here and there, fields of golden wheat. The 
sun was sometimes under a small cloud, and then the mountain- 
sides would be shadowed in gloom, while the fields and mead- 
ows were bright with sunshine. 

This was one of those glorious afternoons in summer, when 
nature seems hushed in stillness, with very joy, too great 
for utterance. As the bashful maiden, listening breathlessly, 
as her lover declares his love, and then, so filled with rapturous 
joy she cannot speak, but can only look her devotion ; so to- 
day, does nature seem to be breathlessly listening to the words 
of approbation from her Maker, as lovingly beholding her, He 
says: ^ It is good !” and in the face of nature, there seems 
to glow an ecstatic flush of pleasure. 

After stopping often to gaze upon this delightful scene, our 
party reached the Garden of the Gods. This noted place is 
one of weird grandeur. Two huge rocks form the entrance to 
this strange spot. One of these is bright red in color, the 
other is of the tint of a peach blossom. At the base of the 
large red rock, just outside of the entrance, is a ledge of white 
gypsum, and the contrast with the bright rocks beyond, is most 
pleasing. These entrance rocks which form the- gateway, are 
entirely bare of vegetation, and rise hundreds of feet into the 
air. Between them is a smaller one, which is called the Sen- 
tinel. After passing through the gateway, our party entered a 
fascinating region. Far in the distance, the purple mountains 
form the horizon, while around rise vast columns of bare rocks ; 
some red, some brown, others cream color, or of a peach- 
bloom ; in all sorts of fantastic shapes, seemingly, as though 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


2ll 


partly carved by some gigantic sculptor, and then left half fin- 
ished in grotesque grandeur. 

One high, tapering column, is called the Tower of Babel ; 
another forms a most real looking group of lions ; and scat- 
tered here and there along the road, are massive piles of 
red sandstone, which are perfect representations of sculp- 
tured images of huge idols, whence comes the name — the 
Garden of th'e Gods. 

The roadway, formed by the pulverized sandstone, is of a 
reddish color, which winding among the green grass, studded 
here and there with dark green pine-trees, adds much to the 
weird beauty. Just outside of the Garden of the Gods, are the 
famous Balancing Rocks. These are tw'o massive rocks, so 
placed upon each other, that the upper one rests in an inclined 
position upon a small point, where it is poised on the lower 
rock in such a manner that it seems as though a touch would 
displace it ; but the strongest man cannot move it an inch. 

As our party entered the Garden of the Gods, the sunset 
glow began to illumine the western sky. Just before the set- 
ting, the heavens were a deep blue — so blue as to dazzle one — 
and the clouds were rather heavy and massive, then became 
broken into lighter and more fleecy ones, until a simple white 
veil hung here and there, through which could be seen the blue ; 
and then the white clouds parted, and paler blue looked forth, 
like a small lake surrounded by hills of snow. Now the sun 
hides himself in his cloud pavilion ; and see ! they begin to 
change like dissolving views. First, mountains of pure gold ; 
then purple-based, and tipped in gold ; then drapery of choco- 
late color, changing to maroon, as though the sun had lifted a 
curtain and passed beyond then bands of purple, orange, 
lemon, and pink, stretching far as the eye could reach. Now 
a brilliant firg-light seemed to illumine the heavens, and peak 
after peak of the Rockies caught the red glow. “ Every cloud 
was a fire-psalm.’’ 

As the awesome grandeur and beauty of the scene cast its 
mystic spell about them. Hector repeated in impressive tones 
that matchless description : “ ‘ And the city was pure gold, 

like unto clear glass ; and tlie foundations of the wall of the 
city were garnished with all manner of precious stones. The 
first foundation was jasper; the second, sapphire; the third, a 
chalcedony ; the fourth, an emerald ; the fifth, sardonyx ; the 
sixth, sardius ; the seventh, chrysolyte ; the eighth, beryl ; the 
ninth, a topaz; the tenth, a clirysoprasus ; the eleventh, a 


212 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


jacinth ; the twelfth, an amethyst. And the twelve gates were 
twelve pearls ; every several gate was of one pearl. And the 
city had no need of the sun, neither of the moon^ to shine in 
it ; for the glory of God did lighten it, and the Lamb is the 
light tliereof/ ” 

As the low tones vibrated on the air, the bands of color in 
the western glow, seemed to change into those foundation- 
stones of precious gems, and the orange and lemon clouds into 
the golden streets, and one could almost hear tlie song which is 
sung before the Great White Throne : ‘‘ Holy> holy, holy, 

Lord God Almighty ! which was, and is, and is to come ! 

But slowly tlie sunset faded, and twilight fell upon the 
world. The tired sun, grown weary, sank into his gorgeous, 
cloud-canopied couch, and drew the gray curtains of twilight 
before his resplendent resting-place. Myriads of stars twinkled 
forth, winking like sleepy children, as though they had not 
quite aroused from their day-dreams ; and the moon glided 
calmly and placidly in her boat of silver, on the blue lake of 
the heavens. The world was changed from its golden glow ; a 
pale white light fell softly, and the waters of the mountain 
brooklets looked like lines of silver, and the flowers by the 
roadside seemed to be shrouded in hazy white gauze, through 
which one could not see their colors distinctly, and the grass in 
the moonlight became tiny spears of glistening steel. Nature 
had taken off the gay clothes from her child — the earth — and 
robed it in a pure white night-dress, that it might sleep, and be 
refreshed; and had left her lamps softly burning, that her 
earth-child might not be afraid of the dark. Gentle Mother ! 

Who could describe the wonderful Garden of the Gods in 
the moonlight? Those towering rocks and weird forms, sculp- 
tured by nature’s chisel, became columns and statues of gleam- 
ing silver. , 

Our party had left their carriage, and had been wandering 
through this enchanting place. Of course Hector was the 
escort of Aseneith, and the learned professor forgot his musty 
books, and college walls, in the* charming society of the, sweet 
and clever maiden who had become a far more engrossing study 
to him, than ancient tongue, or abstruse philosophy. Before 
Cupid’s darts, all men surrender, and find themselves overpow- 
ererl by the mystic spell of love. 

Hector and Aseneith had passed beneath a mammoth group 
of rocks, whose towering shafts, graceful as church-spires, 
seemed to pierce the heavens with their minaret-like points, 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


213 


causing this group to receive the appropriate name of the 
Cathedral. As they stood admiring the bewitching scene 
around them, Hector softly whispered : 

‘‘ It is said that friendship often turns to love, Aseneith ! I 
love you ! — have loved you from the first ! I have dreamed of 
such a woman as you are, but did not dare to hope that I 
should ever find her. When first I saw you, your beautiful 
face charmed me. But I had often gazed on other pretty 
women with indifference, and so I knew it was your witching 
wisdom ; which in spite of all your assumed levity of mind, 
betokened by light novels, and pug dogs, and other feminine 
freaks ; betrayed itself by your intellectual brow, and deep 
unfathomable eyes ; which in spite of all their merry twinkle, 
burn with the fires of genius.^' And with intensest fervor he 
continued : It was because I had at last found my fair God 

dess Neith, appearing in the form of a most beautiful and win- 
ning woman, that my heart bowed down before her in adoring 
worship. And when the clouds of sorrow gathered so thick 
and dark around me, your steadfast confidence in me was my 
shield against despair, and the thought of you was my star of 
hope shining through the black night of my soul-anguish.” 

And Aseneith nobly answered, while a glow burned in her 
gleaming eyes: “Woman’s brightest crown of glory, is not 
the laurel wreath of fame ; but the appreciative admiration of 
the one whose opinion is worth more to her heart than all the 
honor her talents may receive from the world ; for notwith- 
standing woman’s greatest achievements, she will always be 
true enough to her own highest nature to prize above all price 
the commendation of the one who has won her heart’s devo- 
tion.” 

“ Dare I hope to be that one in your life, my Goddess 
Neith ? ” 

“Yes, Hector,” she softly murmured, “for you have proved 
through crucial tests of character, that you possess the lofty 
soul and kingly nature, which only could gain my heart’s 
allegifyice.” 

So they pledged their love to each other at the altar of this 
grand cathedral, erected by the hand of the Almighty in the 
marvelous Garden of the Gods. 

As they joined Antoinette and the professor, they found 
them standing near the rock column called the Tower of 
Babel. 

“ Ah,” exclaimed Antoinette to Hector, with a twinkle in 


^14 


A MORAL inheritance. 


her eyes, I observed your marked interest in that rock cathe- 
dral ! Rather suggestive, is it not ? ’’ 

Very ! ” cried Hector, in a glad voice, which told the joy- 
ful story. ‘‘ But wliat are you doing by the Tower of Babel, 
little one?’’ he asked, with mock gravity. 

‘‘ Oh, like a woman, having the last word in a momentous 
argument with Professor Evermond,” replied Antoinette, with 
slight embarrassment. 

“Well, who is the conqueror in this wordy war, little; 
one? ” Hector inquired, with brotherly interest. 

“ Ask the professor,” cried Antoinette, as she took the arm 
of Aseneith and prepared to return to the carriage waiting 
near. And as Hector grasped the hand of Thomas Evermond, 
with hearty warmth, betokening his congratulations, Antoi- 
nette called back to the gentlemen : “ Doctor and Mrs. Went- 
worth will imagine we are lost, if we do not hasten to Glen 
Eyrie! ” 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


215 


CHAPTER XIV. 

There must always be shadows though bright shines the sun ; 

There must always be labor for each deed well done ; 

There must always be struggles ere victory’s won ; 

There must always be effort ere lile’s race is run. 

Brooding care there must be with a mother’s fond joy ; 

Some hands must have toiled for each pleasure and toy ; 

Some brain has been wearied for each great, noble thought ; 

Some hearts must have suffered ere life’s lessons be taught. 

Defeats must be mastered ere success crowns our day ; 

lu life’s web there is woven some sorrow alway. 

’Mid the gold gleams of joy and bright blue hopes of youth, 

And greens of life’s springtime, and purple-hued truth, 

The red tints of pathos in life’s rainbow appear. 

Ere the White Light of God’s plan and promise be clear. 

Hector and Aseneith liad been married three years. In 
the midst of rapidly increasing professional duties and cares, 
Hector Ormandoff found time, or rather, never failed to make 
time, for his C bristly service to his fellow men. His loving 
devotion to his Divine Master, was always first in his thoughts, 
and became the daily practice of his life. 

“ Plain, straightforward morality, and every-day righteous- 
mess, are better than emotion, and dogmatism, and all church- 
ism, says the world ; and Christianity says much the same ; 
but plain straightforward righteousness and every-day morality 
come most surely when a man is keeping close to Christ.” 

Clirist and common-sense, were the poAverful forces energiz- 
ing Hector’s thoughts, and producing practical results for the 
uplifting of souls around him. His religion did not consist in 
lazily wishing that the world w^ere better, bemoaning wdth half 
listless indifference the natural depravity of human nature. 

“ The trouble with much of the preaching of the day, is well 
illustrated by the answer of the colored sexton to the new pas- 
tor, who asked what sort of sermons he thought would best suit 
the congregation. His reply Avas : ‘ Well, sah, yer kin preach 
to dis yer con’gashun any lamed sermont dat is religious ; but 
for mercy’s sake, touch ’em light on de Ten Commandments.’ ” 

With Hector, every thouglit and action Avas enthused^by a 


2i6 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


vital recognition of personal responsibility, and a resolute devo- 
tion of his body and soul to the task of doing his share, so far 
as God should give him opportunity, for the alleviation of suf- 
fering, and encouragement of the desponding, and the uplifting 
of the fallen, and the offering of the helping hand to the tried 
and tempted ; and, above all, ready always to be used as God's 
instrument in the saving of souls. 

‘‘ Sometimes Christians complain because there are so many 
calls for help in the public prints, as well as at home. But 
God is giving to us three hundred and sixty-five days in the 
year, twenty-four hours in the day, sixty minutes in every 
hour, and sixty seconds in every minute. In fact, God is giv- 
ing to continually^ whether asleep or awake, at home or 
abroad, on land or sea, and He never grows weary nor com- 
plains. I fear too many Christians are like the Dead Sea — all 
the time receiving, but never giving — dead to every outlet, to 
the calls of the poor, also to the Macedonian cry, ‘ Come over 
and help us 1 ’ There comes a time when man can neither lay 
up treasure on earth nor in Heaven. Hence lay up treasure in 
Heaven, while it is called to-day, for the night will soon come 
to one and all. Then what ? '' 

Having felt in his own heart the crucial tortures resulting 
from false accusations. Hector’s sympathy was warm and help- 
ful for all those who might be misunderstood. There is per- 
haps no smart so keen and scathing to a highly-endowed 
nature, whose sensitive soul instinctively sympathizes with the 
pangs of other hearts, than to feel that their kindest motives 
had been misconstrued ; that their desires to help had been 
attributed to false, selfish, or belittling considerations ; that 
their endeavors to bless had been rejected with totally unrec- 
ognized appreciation. To be Christly under such circum- 
stances, to bear and forbear, to have that “ Love which is 
Patience ; Love passive ; Love waiting to begin ; not in a 
hurry; calm ; ready to do its work when the summons comes ; 
but meantime wearing the ornament of a meek and quiet 
spirit; — to have that Love, which in spite of misunderstanding, 
false accusation, or even insulting rejection, yet suffers long ; 
beareth all things ; believeth all things ; hopeth all things ; for 
Love understands and therefore waits ; ” — to have such love 
under such circumstances, is perhaps the most difficult of Christ- 
ian graces, and is truly well-pleasing to the loving Divine Christ. 

He who has been falsely accused, can deeply pity all accused 
ones, even though sin may have condemned them to just 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


217 


penalty, and Hector Ormandoff consecrated his life to the up- 
lifting of the fallen. His Sabbath afternoons were spent in 
tlie prisons, and the hospitals ; and many a despairing soul 
received from his kind action, or considerate word, the saving 
help in the desperate moment, which so often is the critical 
turning-point between reformation and destruction. 

Ah ! how little we realize, that perchance, the soul of one 
who stands beside us for an instant, giving us thereby a Provi- 
dential opportunity, may be hovering over the awful chasm of 
despair ; and peradventure, goes down under the terrible 
weight of sin and sorrow, while we fail to snatch this God- 
given opportunity to speak the word, or proffer the helping 
hand, or even give the encouraging smile, which might have 
been the turning-point in that life ! 

Aseneith consecrated herself also to the same holy work. In 
the hospitals, she passed as an angel of mercy, from bed to bed 
of the suffering inmates. A smile, a prayer, a flower, a dainty 
morsel of food, a song, a tender word of heartfelt sympathy, 
cheered the sick, comforted the sorrowful, and blessed the souls 
of the afflicted ones, as she passed from ward to ward, ‘‘ going 
about doing good.” 

The test of a man on the final day, is not ‘ How have I 
believed ? ’ but, ‘ How have I loved ? ’ The test of religion at 
that great Day of Judgment, is not religiousness, but Love ; 
not what I have done, not what I have believed, not what I 
have achieved, but how I have discharged the common chari- 
ties of life. It is the Son of Man before whom the nations of 
the world shall be gathered. It is in the presence of Humanity 
that we shall be charged. And the spectacle itself, the mere 
sight of it, will silently judge each one. Those will be there 
whom we have met and helped ; or there, the unpitied multi- 
tude whom we neglected or despised. No other witness need 
be summoned. No other charge than lovelessness shall be 
preferred. Be not deceived. The words which all of us shall 
one Day hear, sound not of theology, but of life ; not of 
churches and saints, but of the liungry and the poor ; not of 
creeds and doctrines, but of shelter and clothing ; not of Bibles 
and prayer-books, but of cups of cold water in the name of 
Christ. Thank God ! the Christianity of to-day is coming 
nearer the world’s need. Live to help that on. Thank God! 
men know better by a hair’s breadth, what' religion is, what God 
is, who Clirist is, where Christ is. Who is Christ? Pie who 
fed the liungry, clothed the naked, visited the sick. And 


2i8 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


where is Christ? Where ? — whoso shall receive a little child 
in My name receiveth Me. And who are Christ’s ? Every 
one that loveth is born of God. ’ 

One Sabbath afternoon in the month of May, when nature 
was rising in her resurrection garments from the grave of winter, 
Hector Ormandoff passed from the brilliant sunshine, and ex- 
hilarating air, through the gloomy portals of the prison, into the 
close and dismal cells ; and his heart was full of sympathizing 
sorrow, as his eye fell upon the poor wretches around him.. 

“ Mr. Ormandoff! ” said the warden of the prison, “ there is 
a sad case in one of our hospital cells. The prisoner is a 
woman, and having heard your name, she begged to be allowed 
to see you. She is dying fast from consumption.” 

Hector Ormandoff followed the warden with alacrity, but on 
reaching the door of the cell, he started back in dismay. 
There, on the poor pallet of straw, lay Blanche Whorton, gasp- 
ing away her fast fleeting breath. Here lay the enemy who 
had so nearly wrecked hjs life, and had caused such deep sor- 
row to himself, and to his loved ones. 

Satan whispered : ‘‘ Surely, you have no duty here ! She 

has received her just doom ! She does not deserve your slight- 
est pity ! Think of your years of anguish I Think of your 
dying mother’s sorrow on your behalf I Think of your wife I ” 

So great was the struggle within himself, that Hector turned 
from the door of the cell, before he was recognized by Blanche, 
and saying to the warden, I will send some one to her,”^ 
Hector passed out of the prison, convulsed with conflicting 
emotions. 

For two hours he walked and battled. Could he forgive and 
minister to this soul? ‘‘Think of your own self-respect I ” 
whispered the tempter ; “ that demands that you show proper 
pride ! ” 

Fierce was the conflict in the soul of Hector. At length, 
pale and harassed, he sought his home, and meeting Aseneith 
at the door, she inquired with dismay, what was the cause of 
his emotion. 

“ Blanche Whorton is in the prison hospital. She is dying, 
and desires to see me. What shall I do ? ” 

Now came Aseneith’s struggle. Perhaps a loving and loyal 
wife, could not experience a more crucial test of unselfish 
heroism. It is easier to forgive an injury done to one’s self, 
than to forgive an injury done to the heart’s dearest object of 
affection, How her beloved husband had been wronged, tor- 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 2 19 

tured, and dishonored ! Could she minister in loving forgive- 
ness to the enemy who had wrought this evil ? 

“ Love your enemies ! ’’ whispered conscience. Pray for 
them who despitefully use you and persecute you ! ” 

She had often read those words, but to act them ! — Ah, that 
was a very ditferent thing ! 

Hector had followed her to their library, and as the twilight 
deepened, they sat for a time in suffering silence, each soul 
meeting this crucial test. No need to talk much about it. 
The deepest sorrows of the soul are the least spoken of. Now 
and again -in life, each soul must come face to face with God 
alone. Human sympathy can reach very far, and comfort 
wonderfully ; but there is a space beyond, in the inner recesses 
of the individual soul, where each personality finds itself alone 
with God, or the devil. There is where the battles of character 
are fought ! There is w^here the choices are made for good or 
evil! Thank God I every soul may find the Father, in this 
awful loneliness of one’s personal self, for, He is not far from 
any one*of us.” 

The twilight deepened. The silver crescent gleamed in the 
sky, a shining bow, bent by its Creator’s hand ; ‘and a star 
glistened near its upward curve, as though the finger of God 
was pointing the way to Heaven. 

Let us pray, dearest ! ” said Aseneith ; and Hector and 
his wife bowed before the sinless God, in Whose holy presence 
the saintliest soul is unclean, and desperately wicked. 

There are two great classes of sins — sins of the Body, and 
sins of the Disposition. The Prodigal Son may be taken as a 
type of the first ; the Elder Brother, of the second. Now 
society has no doubt whatever as to which of these is the worse. 
Its brand falls, without a challenge, upon the Prodigal. But 
are we right ? We have no balance to weigh one another’s 
sins, and coarser and finer are but human words; but faults in 
the higher nature may be less venial than those in the lower, 
and to the eye, of Him who is Love, a sin against Love, may 
seem a hundred times more base.” 

As Whitfield said of the drunkard lying in the gutter : 
“ There lies Whitfield, but for the grace of God ! ” And 
Christ, Himself, declared : I say unto you, that the publicans, 

and the harlots go into the Kingdom of Heaven, before you.” 

Rising from their knees, Aseneith threw her arms around her 
husband’s neck, and whispered: “I will go to Blanche Whor- 
ton, to-morrow, dearest I Christ will help me to minister to her,” 


/ 220 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


A month after that, Aseneith Ormandoff sat beside the dying 
woman, one afternoon. Tenderly she had ministered to this 
former enemy. Blanche Whorton was amazed at such un- 
looked for kindness. 

I should think you would want to murder me, Mrs. 
Ormandotf,’’ she said, with labored breath, “instead of nursing 
me so kindly. If this Christ you talk about, can make a 
woman such an angel as you are, He must be wonderful, in- 
deed ! I don’t wan4 to excuse any of my sins, for I am a 
miserable enough wretch ; but my mother was a grisetie, and 
my father a French nobleman ; but of course a roue^ who de- 
serted my mother, and I was forced to dance in the cafes and 
gardens, as soon as I was old enough, and afterwards earn my 
living by posing as a model for artists. Through my father I 
inherited smartness and vice, and through my mother, igno- 
rance, beauty, and poverty. And as my mother died before I 
was fifteen, Paris streets were not the most likely places to 
keep a girl good and honest.^’ 

A month more, and Blanche Whorton, the repentant 
criminal, was in her grave. Her last words to Aseneith, were : 
“ If the thief on the cross, could be saved, Mrs. Ormandoff, I 
hope a pitying Christ will save my poor soul; but it will all 
be owing to you,- that I am not cast into perdition forever ! ” 

“ Oh, not to me ! ” exclaimed Aseneith, tenderly. “ It is 
the loving Christ alone who saves you ! It was Christ who 
sent me to help you.” 

Hector and Aseneith Ormandoff stood together at the grave 
of the dead woman. They had performed a Christly deed, 
which was more acceptable in the sight of their Divine Master, 
than burnt offerings and sacrifices— than loudest hallelujahs, 
and preaching from the house-tops. 

“ In as much as ye have done it unto one of the least of 
these, ye have done it unto me.” 

A new star of a saved soul shone upon the Savioui-’s brow, 
and the “peace of God which passeth all understanding,” 
entered into the hearts of Hector -and Aseneith Ormandoff. 

Ah, the rewards of Christly deeds come often in this life, to 
the souls of the followers of the meek and lowly Jesus! To 
crucify self pays, even as an earthly investment, and enru-hes 
the soul with peace and joy, which the world can pever give, 
and never take away — to say nothing of the heavenly rewards 
for Christly service. For though we are saved by faith alone, 
^nd the acceptance of the Atonement of the Divine Christ; no 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


221 


good deed nor holy thought, is unnoticed, and unrewarded by 
our Heavenly Father. 

Aseneith Ormandoff gathered around her each Sabbath after- 
noon, a large Bible class, composed of young ladies, of ages 
varying from sixteen to twenty -live. Inspired by their loving 
glances, attentive eagerness and sweet appreciation, she en- 
thused their souls with Christly zeal ; enlightened their inquir- 
ing minds, with her stores of gathered information ; stimulated 
their talents by wise counsel, ready help, and cordial apprecia- 
tion ; brightened their lives, by raising their, ideals, and demon- 
strating, both by her lofty example, and enthusiastic appeals, the 
possibility of consecrating all their talents, wdiether great or 
small, to loving service for the Divine Master ; showing that 
home-life can become a wide field for womanly influence ; and 
that Christ not only requires, but also, as He has chosen in 
His divine plan to work through htiman instrumentality, that 
He really needs the efforts of every person, howsoever humble 
they may be, in speeding on the glorious work of His Blessed 
Kingdom. 

God could, did He choose, convert the world through the 
ministry of angels ; but He has seen wise to use the imperfect 
and feeble efforts of men, and in this momentous and stupendous 
work, even the poorest and the meanest may have a glorious 
share. Thanks be to God ! Christ blesses, not according to 
the talents, nor earthly precedence, nor outward seeming sinless- 
ness of any person ; for God searcheth the hearts, and in His 
holy sight, every soul is black, and full of guilt ; for he that 
even ‘‘ hateth his brother, is a murderer ; ’’ and only whosoever 
is wholly without siriy may cast the first stone at a7iy sinner. 
Sinners saved by grace, we may be ; but saints, we shall none 
of us be, until we awake in Christ’s glorious likeness. 

Peradventure, in the eyes of the loving Christ, the repentant 
thief on the cross, was less guilty than even the beloved dis- 
ciple, John, who appears to our eyes so spotless. For mark 
you! even that seemingly perfect John, after he had been tlie 
beloved companion of that gentle Jesus for many months, said, 
regarding the Samaritans, who did not receive Him : “ Lord, 

wilt thou that we command fire to come down from heaven and 
consume them ? ” 

But Jesus turned and rebuked him, saying: ‘‘ Ye know not 
what manner of spirit ye are of. For the Son of Man is not 
come to destroy men’s lives, but to save them.” 


222 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


Thus imperfectly, had even John, the beloved, recognized 
and understood the Gospel of Love, taught and practised by 
the Divine Christ. 

Sabbath after Sabbath, Aseneith sowed the good seed, patient- 
ly, hopefully, humbly, which hereafter ; — sometime^ — peradven- 
ture, after her loving face was calm in death, and her persua- 
sive voice forever silent in this world ; — but, sometime — that is 
God’s promise ; and the promises of the Infinite cannot fail ; — 
sometime., — that good seed should hear fruit. 

It was the year after the death of Blanche Whorton, and the 
victory achieved by Christ, in Aseneith’s soul, had written its 
record of peace upon her noble brow ; and her dark eyes glowed 
now with a holy fire, never equalled before by all their dia- 
mond flashes of wit and beauty. Ah, there is no such beauti- 
tier for the human face, as C bristly consecration ! 

‘‘ Mrs. Ormandoff,” asked one young lady in Aseneith’s 
class, one Sabbath, after a lesson upon Forgiveness, “ do you 
think any one could ever learn to forgive an enemy ? ” 

‘‘ Yes, Mary ! ” responded Aseneith, with a radiant smile 
lighting her face. ‘‘ It is a very difficult lesson, but nothing is 
impossible with God; and He can w^ork w^onders even with our 
poor sinful souls.” 

But, Mrs. Ormandoff,” continued the girl, eagerly, “ I 
don’t suppose you can know anything about enemies, for I can’t 
imagine it possible for any one to I)e an enemy to you ; but I 
have a bitter enemy, and I would like to find out if such a 
thing had really been done by some person.” 

“ Mary, dear,” replied Aseneith, tenderly, “ I know by ex- 
perience that it can be done; but only through Christ working 
in us, not of ourselves. I cannot tell you the circumstances, 
but I had been deeply wTonged by one — or what was perhaps 
harder to forgive — the one I loved the dearest in all the world, 
had been tortured, injured, and dishonored, by a cruel enemy. 
And yet Christ helped me to minister to that enemy in her 
dying hour, and I trust that I was permitted to show her the 
way to a saving Christ.” Aseneith’s voice had grown very 
reverent, and her sweet face shone with love, as she placed her 
arm around the neck of the young girl, and whispered tenderly: 
‘‘ So you see, dear, I know Christ can help you to forgive an 
enemy. It is the victories Christ has gained for us, that makes 
us sure of future help, and future triumphs over sin and self! ” 
‘‘Mrs. Ormandoff,” asked another of her scholars, as the 
girls gathered closer round their beloved teacher, eagerly catch- 


A Moral inheritance. 


^^3 


ing every word of encouragement and inspiration wliicli fell 
Irom her lips ; for Aseneith so readily understood their difficul- 
ties, and could always draw some practical help from her own 
experience, to smooth their paths, and chase away shadows of 
perplexity, by the sunshine of her loving appreciation and 
counsel ; ^ Mrs. Ormandoff,” continued the girl, ‘‘ did you ever 
try to help anybody very hard, and then find that they only 
misunderstood your motives, and you seemed to have done only 
harm instead of good ? 

‘‘Yes, Bella,” replied Aseneith, “that is one of the most 
trying experiences in Christian living and labor. Remember, 
my dear young ladies,” she continued, with animated face, and 
kindling eyes, “remember that we do not ever get free from 
the devil’s temptations, as long as we live in this world. I used 
to look up to older Christians than myself, and think, ‘ Well, 
when I get as saintly as they are, I won’t find any temptations 
in my way!’ But, dears, there is not a man nor woman so 
good, that the devil ceases to fight them. Indeed, Satan seems 
to wage the hottest warfare with some of the saintliest souls. 
AVhen the devil can’t tempt us to outward sins of the body, 
then he clothes himself with a garment of light, enters our 
souls in the guise of our conscience, and sometimes becomes so 
aggressive, that we are really at a loss to know right from 
wrong. And when we think to defeat him by doing some kind 
deed, he wraps around his sneering face the cloak of mock 
humility, and tempts us to desist from some attempted effort, 
by insinuating that our motives are only selfish. He, no doubt, 
tempted you, Bella, after your experience in trying to help 
your friend, which ended in your being misunderstood. He 
probably whispered to you, ‘ Well, you see, you had better not 
try to do good at all, you only get insult for your pains ! ’ ” 

“ Why, Mrs. Ormandofi, how you seem to know things I ” 
exclaimed Bella, with flushed and interested face. “ I thought 
it was so easy for you to think rightly, and always do the kind 
things • ' i 

“ No, indeed, my" dear young ladies ! I assure you, I have 
hot battles with the old tempter ; and when I feel, sometimes, 
in moments of complacency, ‘ AVell, the devil is laid low at 
last ! ’ behold, he springs up again in some other linlooked for 
corner of my heart, and for a time, seems to gain the victory I 
You will find that he often tempts most when you are trying 
the hardest to live a C bristly life. When we get worldly and 
indifferent, the devil is not so much afraid of losing his power 


524 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


\ 


over us ; and so lie apparently lets us alone for awhile, and w^e 
mistakenly suppose that ive have groivn so good that Satan 
has been defeated. The Christian life is a battle, a constant 
battle, my dears, and will be, while we live; and those who are 
really growing in grace, are to themselves, apparently, never 
so full of sin. For as the conscience grows more sen^tive, and 
the character more holy; sin becomes more hateful, and is 
therefore more easily detected by us. It is then the devil fights 
the hardest, and uses our very consciences as his weapons.’’ 

“ What can we do in such times, Mrs. Ormandprff? ” asked 
Mary. 

Pray and work 1 ” replied Aseneith. ‘We must not ex- 
pect a telegram from the skies, nor to hear the voice of God 
speaking audibly to us out of Heaven ; ! but the Holy Spirit 
will enlighten our consciences ; and if we pray, work, and wait, 
the light will be shed upon our pathway, and our steps will be 
guided aright. One of my hardest conflicts with the devil, 
was when I had tried, as Bella has, to help a friend ; and in- 
stead of helping, I only seemed to have hurt a soul. And 
oh ! it is less hard to bear, to be hurt one’s self an hundred 
times, than to find that we have unconsciously hurt a soul. Then 
Satan is triumphant. 'Now is his opportunity. He taunts us ; 
quotes Scripture to us ; whispers, ‘ It were better that a mill- 
stone were hanged about your neck, and that you were cast 
into the sea ! ’ Thus he tempts us to despair ; and w'hen w'e 
try to do some other kind deed, the devil sneeringly whispers : 
‘ Yes you have hurt one soul, now you are only a hypocrite in 
trying to pretend to be kind ! ’ I was so tempted in this w'ay 
once,” continued Aseneith, “ that I did not seem to know the 
devil from my conscience ; and after hours of prayer, the re- 
solve came to me, ‘ If this is the devil, I’ll fight him, hypo- 
crite or not ; and every time he tempts me in this way, I wdll 
go instantly and do some kind deed, or ^peak some kind w'ord'; 
and so I’ll pile up kindnesses, in spite of the devil ; and 
whether I am a hypocrite or not, God will knovv ; and some 
souls will be helped anyhow ! ’ Prayer apd Avork are the best 
weapons against the devil.” 

“ But why do you suppose we must have such an experience, 
Mrs. Ormandorff, when we are trying to help?” asked Bella. 

“ Well, you see, my dear, w^e often w^ant to help in ou7' way, 
and that may not always be God’s w^ay. And then we must 
be taught that our help is not always necessary to God’s plans. 
After God has blessed our efforts many times, we are apt to 


A MORAL inheritance. 


225 


grow religiously proud ; for we can have pride in our religious 
success, as well as other ways ; and then such an experience 
comes to humble us, to show us the selfishness underlying even 
our good deeds. We had perhaps become Pharisees ; — thanking 
God that we were not as other men ; — we fasted ; — we prayed ; — 
we gave tithes ; — we did this and that good thing. Then we must 
be brought to the condition of the poor Publican ; when, having 
been brought by the searching Spirit of God, face to face with 
our own unworthy selves, we are led to exclaim, ‘ God, be 
merciful to me a sinner ! ^ Only remember, my dear young 
ladies, Christ will never let us slip from His loving clasp ! His 
grace will always be sufficient for us. It is by means of these 
crucial tests that character grows. 

Such experiences are also intended to give us sympathy 
with those who are trying to reform their evil lives. These mis- 
takes and sins of ours, even when we imagined we were living 
very godly lives, reveal to us the weakness of human nature ; 
and then, when the devil tempts us to give up trying, and even 
suggests to our minds, despair ; how it quickens our sympathy 
with others, and leads us to wonder, not that so few reform, 
but rather, how anyone overcomes the awful discouragements 
which always stand in the way of those who are trying to lead 
better lives, after having given themselves up to self-indulgence 
and wickedness ; and we become more than ever convinced, 
that it is only the power of God’s Holy Spirit, working in any 
soul, which gives strength and grace to overcome the flesh and 
the devil ! 

‘‘ What a tough tussle the old devil must have had with Paul 
just after his conversion ! The Christians didn’t for a time 
believe in his conversion ! He met the cold shoulder every- 
where. We are told : • When Saul was come to Jerusalem, he 
assayed to join himself to the disciples ; but they were all 
afraid of him, and believed not that he was a disciple.’ What 
a (iiie opportunity for Satan to attack l^aul then 1 Two forms 
of attack must have been crucial. Plow the old devil must have 
whispered, ‘There, you see, no one will believe in your change 
of heart and life ! what’s the use of trying^? ’ — or again, ‘ A 
nice one, you are, to try aad preach ! Why, your hands are 
even stained with the blood of Christians!’ — No wonder Paul 
exclaimed in his old age,^ ‘ I have fought a good light ! ’ Ah, 
little we know of the soul-battles all around us ! Every heart 
is a battlefield ; and every> life, is, in the end, either a victory 

15 


226 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


or- a defeat. ^ But thanks be to God, which giveth us the vic- 
tory through our Lord Jesus Christ ! ’ ” 

“ Do you think, Mrs. OrmandofF,” asked Mary, ‘‘that every 
one is guilty of breaking all of the Ten Commandments ? ” 
“In practice, no, Mary; in spirit, yes? If we test keenly 
our lives and motives by the light of God’s truth and holiness, 
we will find ourselves wholly guilty of breaking the spirit of 
the entire law. Look for a moment over the Commandments. 
‘ Thou shalt have no other gods before Me ! ’ — We have all of 
us worshipped self. ‘ Thou shalt not take the name of the 
Lord thy God in vain ! ’ — We have all of us uttered thought- 
less prayers, even though we may not have been profane. ‘ Re- 
member the Sabbath Day to keep it holy ! ’ — We are all con- 
demned here. Light words, frivolous thoughts, and careless 
deeds, have broken this law, even though our outward lives 
have conformed to the customary decorous observance of 
Sabbath services. ‘ Plonor thy father and thy mother 1 ’ — 
When, perchance, our beloved parents are laid in the grave, 
and we stand beside their sacred dust ; we must all of us be- 
wail with bitter tears, our breaking of this great law. ‘ Thou 
slialt not kill ! ’ ” 

“ But, Mrs. Ormandoff,” exclaimed Bella, “ only murderers 
are guilty of breaking this, law ! ” 

“ ‘ Whosoever hateth his brother, is a murderer,’ Christ 
said ; and who of us have not sometimes hated, Bella ? ” 
“Well, surely we are free concerning the next command- 
ment, Mrs. OfinandofF! ” said a lovely girl in the class. 

“We may be free as regards being a Magdalen, Christine, 
dear,” replied Aseneith ; “but unclean thoughts, and immoral 
words, place us under the condemnation of that law.” 

“ But theft, Mrs. Ormandoff,” said Bella “ surely, there we 
are free ! ” 

“We may not have stolen gold, or goods,” replied Aseneith ; 
“but have we never it)bbed a heart of joy, by some cruel 
word or deed of ours ? Have we never robbed a character of 
its just dues, by some gossiping scandal we have thoughlessly 
repeated ? ‘ Thou shalt not steal ! ’ covers a wide field of 

thought and action, you see; and the condemned criminal, may 
not be the only one guilty of breaking that law. And surely, 
we have all borne false witness, by unjust accusations and con- 
demnations ; and we have all coveted ;*so^ in the eyes of a holy 
God, we are guilty of breaking the entire law ! ‘For whoso- 
ever shall keep the whole lawy and yet offend in one point, he 
is guilty of all.” A helpful writer says : 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


227 


‘‘ ‘ The world is not a playground ; it is a schoolroom. Life 
is not a holiday, hut an education. And the one eternal les- 
son for us all, is, how better we can love. What makes a man 
a good artist, a good sculptor, a good musician ? Practice ! 
What makes a man a good linguist, a good stenographer? 
Practice! What makes a man a good man? Practice! 
Nothing else. There is nothing capricious about religion. 
We do not get the soul in different ways, under different laws, 
from those in which we get the body and the mind. If a man 
does not exercise his arm, he develops no biceps muscle ; and 
if a man does not exercise his soul, he acquires no muscle in 
his soul, no strength of character, no vigor of moral fibre, nor 
beauty of spiritual growth. Love is not a thing of enthusiastic 
emotion. It is a rich, strong, manly, vigorous expression of 
the whole round Christian character — the Cliristlike nature in 
its fullest development. And the constituents of this great 
character are only to be built up by ceaseless practice. 

‘‘‘What was Christ doing in the carpenter’s shop ? Prac- 
ticing! Though perfect, we read that He learned obedience, 
and grew in wisdom and in favor with God. Do not quarrel 
therefore with your lot in life. Do not complain of its never 
ceasing cares, its petty environments, the vexations you have 
to stand, the small and sordid souls you have to live and work 
with. Above all, do not resent temptation ; do not be per- 
plexed because it seems to thicken round you more and more, 
and ceases, neither for effort, nor for agony, nor prayer. Tliat 
is your practice. That is the practice which God appoints 
you ; and it is having its work in making you patient, and 
humble, and generous, and unselfish, and kind, and courteous. 
Do not grudge the hand that is moulding the still shapeless 
image within you. It is growing more beautiful, though you 
see it not, and every touch of temptation may add to its per- 
fection. Therefore, keep in the midst of life. Do not isolate 
yourself. Be among men, and among things, and among trou- 
bles, and difficulties, and obstacles. You remember Goethe’s 
words: “Talent develops itself in solitude; character in the 
stream of life ? ” Talent develops itself in solitude — tbe talent 
of prayer, of faith, of meditation, of seeing the unseen. Char- 
acter grows in the stream of the w^orld’s life. That chiefly is 
where men are to learn love.’ ” 

Thus Aseneith Ormandoff was using her own experiences to 
help other lives. , An effort seems not so formidable to attempt, 
when we know ii has been successfully made by some other 
mortal like ourselves. . 


228 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


CHAPTER XV. 

The extension of the Denver and Rio Grande railroad, 
crosses the Sangre de Christo range at Veta Pass, at an eleva- 
tion of over nine thousand feet above the sea. It is one of the 
highest points reached by any railroad in the world. One of 
the many curves of the road, gives a magnificent view of moun- 
tain scenery. Veta and Dump mountains, appear in the fore- 
ground ; amidst whose dizzy heights, the railroad winds up- 
ward, still upward, like a tiny thread of steel — up — till the eye 
dares not look down into the awful chasms beneath ; but, half 
terrified, and half exultant, gazes, spell-bound, upon the tower- 
ing Spanish Peaks, and yet stiH higher, to the gleaming, 
snowy crest of Sierra Blanca, the highest peak in Colorado. 

Beneath these dizzy heiglits, round which the sturdy engine 
bears its living freight of liuman souls, the mountain sides are 
draped with golden-tinted clouds ; for we are now above them, 
gazing into the azure depths of heaven, flooded with dazzling 
rays of such pure light, as almost to blind one, when not 
viewed through the misty veil of sunlit clouds. 

Now, while we bask in the sunshine, at this exalted height, 
the clouds beneath us deepen, and the rain falls, in the dark 
mountain gorges, far down the awful depths below us. As we 
watch the sublime spectacle, and note the sun-tipped crests of 
yonder black and threatening Clouds ; — on our side, sunshine — 
below, the darkness and the storm ; — we involuntarily mur- 
mur, “ Every cloud has its silver lining ! ” — It is always bright 
upon the other side ! 

Far up the steep and rugged sides of Veta mountain, in the 
Sangre de Christo range, still higher up than the daring rail- 
road climbs ; stood a lone miner’s cabin, with one solitary 
occupant, known only amongst the people in the scattered 
hamlets by the name of the Hermit of Sangre de Christo. 
Several times, during the short summers, the hermit came 
down into the nearest mining camps, to procure supplies. But 
through the long winters, he remained invisible to all human 
eyes ; having no companions but the snow and ice, and wild, 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


229 


cold winds, and merciless storms which lashed against the 
mountain sides with demoniacal fury ; seemingly intent upon 
hurling the grand old Rockies from their granite bases, and 
piling them up in still more titanic and fantastic masses of cha- 
otic grandeur. 

Who was the hermit?. None knew. Suddenly he had 
appeared upon the mountain side, like some strange apparition. 
Unaided, he had built his lonely cabin ; across whose humble 
portal, no footstep but his own had ever passed. One rough 
miner, more venturesome than the rest, bad climbed the steep 
mountain, and sought admittance to the hermit’s aerial retreat. 
The owner of the cabin was not at home; and peering through 
the half draped wdndow, the visitor was surprised to see in such 
a place a violin, and many richly bound books, tilling the rude 
shelves which lined the little cabin. On a rough table, made 
of twisted pine knots, stood a tiny easel, with a woman’s pic- 
ture, framed in dark blue velvet. The rough miner’s com- 
ments, when he returned from this visit to the camp below, 
were : 

Well, boys, that thar hermit is no doubt some ‘ tender- 
foot,’ but he’s mighty plucky, in spite of his book-larnin,’ and 
fiddle, and woman’s notions. None but a daring fellow would 
have chosen sich a place. I reckon he ain’t as old as his 
white hair and beard would make folks think him ; for old 
bones could never have built sich a cabin, nor have lugged up 
that mountain all them thar books, though what on earth he 
wants o^ them, beats me. I reckon he must be one o’ them 
star-gazin’ fellows, w'hat tries to read their fortunes in the 
planets.” ^ 

And so the hermit gained the added title of “ Crazy Astron- 
omer.” 

The train which crosses this picturesque range, had just 
stopped at one of the small mining towns on its route. Three 
travelers alighted from it, much, to the amazement of the rough 
miners gathered there ; for two of the travelers were women, 
and their dress and manners, denoted that they were cultivated 
ladies. Their companion was an old Scotchman, whose defer- 
ential bearing, suggested the inference that he w^as some trusty 
family servant. Having attended to the baggage, the old man 
approached the ladies, and respectfully addressed the younger 
of them wfith the remark : 


^30 


A MORAL WHERITAA^CE. 


“ Aw well, miss, I ween this project may be a bit awesome 
after all, though I wadna venture unco opinions to mar your 
bonny pleasure/’ 

‘‘Never fear, Donald,” answered the lady, laughing, “you 
won’t have to bear the responsibility of this wild freak of mine. 
But you need have no anxieties because I wish to ascend this 
mountain ! Surely, the ascent of Pike’s Peak, was just as 
formidable ; and you found me quite a fearless mountain 
climber, and expert equestrian.” 

“But why does this Sangre de Christo range, have such a 
charm for you, Eulalie?” asked the elder lady. 

“ Ah ! Je ne sais pas, ma belle Alice, unless it is my destiny,” 
answered the younger and more beautiful of the two. But 
although her voice was clear and merry, the last tones softened 
almost to a whisper ; and a far-away look came into her dark 
brown eyes, which left a gleam within their depths, like the 
reflection of a star in some smooth pool of water, nestled at 
the bottom of a deep ravine; too far down, to catch the fickle, 
changing sunbeams ; but reflecting the bright evening star, 
which glowed in the heavens above it. 

“ Aw weel, miss, seein’ old Donald couldna cross your wish, 
since ye were a wee bit o’ lassie, in the short gowns, and the 
bonny blue snood. I’ll do ma best to humor ye ; but the day is 
too far gone a’ready, for sich a tramp ’ere night.” 

“ Oh, yes, Donald, I can wait until to-morrow. Mrs. Hum- 
bert is so used to my mad freaks, that she will not mind one 
night in a log cabin ; will you, Alice, dear? ” 

“ Well, since our camping out in that wild thunderstorm, in 
Estes Park, Eulalie, I think I am prepared for anything in. the 
way of an adventure. A miner’s cabin, will be quite luxu- 
riant in comparison ; and if one night in these wild regions, 
will suffice you, I’ll not complain. I’m quite relieved that you 
have not proposed to build a summer residence on the summit 
•of Pike’s Peak, for annual hair’s breadth excursions.” 

^o it was settled. For a generous sum of money, one 
miner’s family was persuaded to vacate their three-roomed 
domicile for the night ; and to crowd into some of their 
neighbors’ cabins, who were to share their remuneration ; and 
the two ladies, with old Donald to guard them, were soon 
making themselves at home in their rude quarters. 

Why were they here? What was the cause of the strange 
fascination which the Sangre de Christo mountains seemed 
to have over Miss Eulalie Everard ? What memory, or 


' A MORAL INHERITANCE. 23 1 

Vi 

legend was connected in lier mind with those rugged, bleak, 
and awesome peaks, crowned with their glistening diadems of 
perpetual snow ? What spirit hovered around their frightful 
chasms ? What strange spell seemed to compel her to attempt 
to scale their unknown heights, and fathom the mysteries of 
their sublime, but awful grandeur ? 

For ten years, she had been chasing a phantom. Tliough 
the casual observer would have failed to detect any tragedy in 
her handsome countenance, a more skilled psychologist, might 
have read strange lines in that fair face — lines which be- 
tokened a thrilling, history. ^ ^ 

That night, when alone in her humble room in the miner’s 
log cabin, she stood by the window, and gazed upon the tower- 
ing summit of the mountains before her, whose snowy crest 
glLmed like burnished silver in the clear moonlight. Then, 
as though under the influence of some magic spell, she 
stretched out her white arms toward it, and softly chanted a 
Spanish hymn, lingering over the refrain ‘‘ Sangre de Christo 
Blood of Christ ! — ” with tones of melting tenderness. 

What association was there in her mind between that range 
of lofty mountains bearing the strange Spanish name of 
Sangre de Christo, and the vesper hymn, called by the same 
expressive title ? Again reaching out her arms toward the 
mountains, she murmured: “Sangre de Christo ! — Sangre de 

Christo! I am h^re, beloved ! — I am coming! By the 

precious blood of Christ, I will never cease seeking thee, until 
I have found thee — either here, or hereafter ! ” 

That night, about midnight, Eulalie was suddenly awakened by 
a voice. Where was it ? What was it? The voice was not 
strange, although she had not heard it for ten long years. Was 
she dreaming ? No ! this was the miner’s cabin — the window — 
the moonlight. Then again she heard the voice, chanting the 
Spanish hymn, “ Sangre de Christo ! ” — It was a man’s voice; 

ah ! yes, she remembered. It was the night of her 

betrothal, far away in the city of New York — ten years ago. 
Her lover was bending over her as she sat in the soft moon- 
light, at the piano, near the open window of the cfrawing-room 
in her father’s mansion. They had been singing Spanish 
songs together; — and then he raised her hand to his lips — 
lool^ed into her eyes — and told the old, old, but always 
delicious story, when heart answers heart. And when she 
murmured “Yes! ” his rich low voice had chanted, as though 
to consecrate their love, for time and for eternity, “ Sangre de 


232 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


Christo ! — By the precious blood of Christ, which saveth us, 
we shall be one forever. 

And then — oh, then — had come the blackness of despair ! 
Then, that very night — the tliundei-bolt had fallen ! Ere 
the dawing of the new day, an impassable chasm yawned be- 
tween them — and yet it was not death ! 

But hark ! she surely hears a voice — his voice. It is no 
phantom of the memory. Truly, that is a mortal form, which 
now stands motionless in tlie moonlight, plainly visible through 
her open window, which is opposite the low, rude bed upon 
wliich she is lying. It is his height, but his hair and beard are 
long, and gleam white as snow in the silvery light. Is it an 
angel spirit? No, those are truly mortal tones, which now 
steal softly, and oh, so tenderly to her ear. Smigre de 
Christo!’^ tl^^y chant, in melting strains of ravishing sweet- 
ness. Ah ! those are his ton^s ! — only his — she could never 
mistake *them ! Was she dead and in heaven with him, at 
last ? Unconsciously, she closed her eyes, and listened breath- 
lessly for an instant. The voice ceased. She started up. No 
one was to be seen. She sprang to the windoAv. Only the 
soft, silvery moonlight, and^ towering peaks. What did it 
mean ? 

Swiftly, she glided into the adjoining room of her .compan- 
ion. 

Alice, dear, did you hear anything ? ’’ she breathlessly 
asked. 

“ Why no, child ! What could we hear but the wind among 
the pine trees upon these great terrible mountains ? What is 
the matter?” she continued, sitting up, and drawing Eulalie 
dowm close in her arms. “ Why, child, you are trembling, as 
though in a chill ! What has happened?” 

Oh, nothing ! ” whispered Eulalie. ‘‘I must have been 
dreaming. I think I must be cold in this mountain air. My 
window was open.” 

“ Oh, you foolish, imprudent child ! Lie right down' here 
beside me ! ♦ Surely, you will now give up your mad notion of 
climbing that^ awful mountain to-morrow, and take the early 
train for a more civilized country ! ” 

‘‘ Oh, no ! ” eagerly replie^d Eulalie. I will climb that 
mountain though I die in the attempt ! ” 

“ Oh, I expect you will next take some freak to explore the 
heart of Africa, and climb the Mountains of the Moon ! ” 
laughingly rejoined Mrs. Humbert. If it comes to that, dear, 


V 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


233 


I fear I will have to resign my position as lady’s companion ; 
although I tliink I have proved that I would follow you almost 
anywhere, even though I do desert you now and then, leaving 
old Donald and the guides to attend you on your mad adven- 
tures, when my poor foolish nerves, and timid heart, will not 
permit me to accompany you. But if you insist on carrying 
out your rash intention, the sooner you are asleep, Eulalie, the 
better.” 

Early the next morning. Miss Eulalie Everard, accompanied 
by her servant, Donald, and one of the mountain guides,^ 
mounted their horses, and started up the narrow, winding 
footpath, which had been an Indian trail in former times. Eu- 
lalie appeared unusually excited, and w^as so daring, and al- 
most reckless, as to cause old Donald to shake his head, and 
gently expostulate upon her surprising and strange haste. 

‘‘ Aw weel, my bonnie lassie,” he at last exclaimed, forget- 
ting her mature years, will ye na bide a bit ? It’s uncohasto 
ye’re ta’en. I wot ye didna gang sae venturesome afore ! ” 

‘‘ Don’t fear for me, Donald ! ” cried Eulalie, as with the 
guide beside her, she reined her horse upon the edge of a deep 
chasm, to await the coming of her faithful servant, who fol- 
lowed a little in the rear. But the next moment the wind 
caught her long, flowing veil, and wound it quickly round 
her horse’s head, blinding him for an instant. He reared, 
and plunged in fright; and ere the guide could grasp the 
rein, lie lost his footing, and fell, with his fair burden, over 
the yawning edge of the deep precipice. 

With a cry of horror, the guide and Donald sprang from 
their horses, and bent over the abyss with blanched faces and 
trembling limbs. Was she dashed to pieces? They thought 
so at first, for at the bottom of the deep ravine lay her horse. 
But where was she? Did she lie crushed beneath his weight ? 
No ! — marvelous ! — a ledge, half way down the terrible chasm, 
had caught the skirt of her riding-habit ; and she hung mid- 
way, held by the frail fabric, and clinging to the rock with her 
fast stiffening fingers. Oh ! would she hold till help could 
reach her? Not asecond must be lost! The guide exclaimed, 

‘‘ The hermit’s cabin is near 1 I’ll get a rope. Watch I ” 

It seemed an age, but not five minutes had elapsed, ere the 
guide returned, accompanied by the hermit. His long white 
hair, uncovered, floated in the wind. Instantly, he took com- 
mand. 

“ Here, you two, let me down,” he said, as he fastened the 


234 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


rope around liis waist. Twist the rope twice round that 
small pine-tree, so it cannot slip, then lower me ! ’’ 

He was gone over the edge. Soon tlie rope slackened. 
Fastening the end securely, they bent over the awful cl i asm. 
The hermit was standing on the narrow ledge, and had clasped 
her in his arms, just as the dress was tearing loose from the 
sharp edge of rock upon which it had caught. Eulalie had 
fainted. The hermit cast one glance upon that pallid, beauti- 
ful face, and then he cried : “ Oh, my beloved ! — It is she, 

my darling Eulalie ! — My angel love ! — Speak to me ! ” 

But the dark eyes opened not. Was she dead ? — dead, now ! 
— when once again he clasped her to his heart ! There was 
no time for tears. That slender rope might break with the 
weight of two. He must not risk it. Carefully he fastened 
the rope about her, and signaled his helpers above to draw her 
up. Oh, the awful agony ! — the terrible joy of that dread 
moment ! Had he indeed found his long-lost love? Was she 
alive? It seemed an eternity to wait, to learn the truth. At 
last the rope again descended, and the hermit was drawn up. 
Where was Eulalie? Donald had borne her into the hermit’s 
cabin, and laid her on the humble cot ; which was richly cov- 
ered, however, with soft, warm furs, secured by the hermit in 
his hunting expeditions. The hermit approached her, and 
gently taking. her white hand, he felt her pulse with liis trem- 
bling fingers. Feeble pulsations could be perceived, and quickly 
placing to her lips a few drops of brandy, he was overjoyed at 
last to see her breast heave, and tlien her brown eyes open. 
By chance, they fell first upon the picture, in the dark blue 
velvet frame, and then on the hermit’s face. A wild joy 
hashed from their depths, and a glad cry burst from her 
lips: 

“ My Edgar ! — -found at last I — blessed Sangre de Christo I ” 
and then again she fainted. 

‘‘ Ah, my poor bonny lass ! ” exclaimed old Donald, with the 
tears streaming down his cheeks. Then turning to the her- 
mit, who had clasped Eulalie in his arms, he said : “ Master 
Lewellyn, the sweet lass has sought ye far and near, for ten 
long years. Ever since that night — you know — Strange, 
my old eyes did not discover ye before ; but the awful fright, 
and danger of my mistress, and your white locks, which used 
to be so bonny brown, have near clear blinded me. Excuse 
me ! I mean no disrespect ; — Miss Everard always seems a 
bonny lass to her old Donald, who has served her ever since 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


23s 


she was a wee tottling bairn,** and with an instinct of what 
was fitting, old Donald withdrew from the room, saying ? ‘‘ If 
I can help you, call me. Master Lewellyn. 1*11 be just without 
the door.** 

My darling ! Oh, my heart*s love ! ** whispered Edgar 
Lewellyn, between the sobs which shook his strong frame, as lie 
lield Eulalie in his arms, with an embrace which only death 
could sever. But then, suddenly, his bright eye darkened, and 
a shadow black as night passed over his enraptured face, and 
he laid her softly down, whispering : “ Oh, I had forgotten for 
one blissful moment ! I must not touch her ! — my pure 
angel-love ! — the past ! ** 

‘‘Edgar! — Oh, Edgar! — Did I not find you, love?*’ ex- 
claimed Eulalie, rising up with startled eyes ; and clasping his 
cold hand, she whispered : “ I’ve sought you the world over, 

love, for ten long years ! ” 

“ Why should you seek one who has such a dishonored 
name ? ” 

“Dishonor! — Disgrace! Do you not know?” she ex- 
claimed, speaking hurriedly, with fiashing eyes and deepening 
color. “ Did you not know, that I never, for one instant, 
doubted your innocence ? That awful night ! — that blessed 
night ! ** she added, clasping his hand closely in her own. 
“ You know when you left me and went to find poor papa, as I 
had bid you — and found him ! — Oh, I cannot say it ! — mur- 
dered ! — and your screams brought the servants, and they be- 
held you with the bloody knife, which you had drawn from his 
bleeding heart ! Then — you know, dear! — though they could 
not prove it, they thought you guilty ! But I did not, for one 
single instant. Love, I would have staked my life, and hopes 
of heaven, upon your innocence ! And after your trial, and 
acquittal, I thought you would surely come to me ; but instead, 
came your short parting note : ‘ I can only say that I am inno- 
cent ; but as I cannot 'prove it, I will never trouble you more. 
Farewell ! Sangre de Christo is my only hope. Perhaps in 
tleaven, you may know my innocence and love, and we may 
meet once more.* Oh, Edgar, deadest, those words were burnt 
into my very soul. I vowed that I would find the guilty one ; 
that I would clear you in the eyes of all the world ; and then I 
would spend my life in seeking you. And if I did not find 
you this side of the grave, I would search through all Heaven, 
and never rest, until I clasped you to my heart, or joined your 
soul in Paradise.** 


236 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


Did you find the guilty one? 

“Oh, do you not know? Have you not seen it in the 
papers ? I had it published east and west, and everywhere. A 
drunken servant, whom papa had discliarged, and who had 
vowed vengeance, committed the awful deed. When about to 
be hung for another murder, he^ confessed this, among other 
crimes. And I have never ceased to search for you. . Often- 
times, I thought you w^ere dead ; and then a clue would be 
obtained, by some of the many detectives I sent in all direc- 
tions ; and again it would be lost. At last, I found a faint 
trace of you in the far West; and I determined to follow it up 
myself, with old Donald, and my kind governess, Mrs. Hum- 
bert, as companions. When I heard of the Sangre de Christo 
range, ,I felt impelled to come ; and Edgar, I had such a 
strange, sweet dream last night ! I thought that I saw you 
outside my window in the moonlight, and I heard your loved 
voice, chanting the Sangre de Christo vesper hymn. But 
when I sprang to the window, you were gone.” 

“ Why, my darling, I was chanting that hymn, out in the 
moonlight. For some reason, which I could not explain, for 
several days you have seemed nearer to me than ever before, 
since we parted. Last night, I could not sleep. I seemed to 
see your 'face, continually ; and once, I thought I heard your 
voice, chanting that hymn, as I stood in the door of my cabin, 
overlooking the little camp below. At last, I could rest no 
longer. I went down the mountain-side ; and about midnight, 
as I approached one of the cabins, I felt impelled to sing that 
hymn — you seemed so near me.” * 

“I did sing it, Edgar, dearest. In the early evening, while 
looking at this mountain, somehow, I seemed to be so drawn 
upward, as by some unseen presence, that I stretched out my 
arms, and called your name, again and again. Ah, blessed 
Sangre de Christo ! ” 

“ Oh, my long-lost darling!” whispered Edgar, as he clasped 
her to his heart. “ I w^ould undure the past ten years of 
anguish, for the present moment of bliss I ” 

“I just knocked to say the guide has brought fresh horses,” 
said old Donald at the door. “ Shall I bring Mrs. Humbert 
up, or will Miss Eulalie go down the mountain again ? ” 

“ Oh, Alice could never have the courage to climb this 
mountain,” said Eulalie, rising, but finding herself very weak 
after her late terrible adventure. 

“Yes, she will!” exclaimed Edgar. 


“My cabin is more 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


237 


comfortable than that miner’s hut, and I will bring her"safely, 
if I have to carry her up on my back. Donald, watch Miss 
Everard, while the guide and I go for Mrs. Humbert.’* 

Then bending over Eulalie, he whispered ; “ How soon shall 
it be, darling? We have waited so long! ” 

“ Whenever you wish, Edgar, love I ” she answered. 

“ Then I wdll bring a minister or a justice, if one can be 
found, before the sun sets,” whispered Edgar, for we must bci 
married upon the Sangre de Christo mount, which has restored 
us to each other ! ” 

As the first rays of the rising moon silvered the snowy crest 
of the lofty peak, Edgar and Eulalie were married by a minister 
from the nearest hamlet, in the hermit’s cabin, with Mrs. 
Humbert, and old Donald as witnesses. After the holy 
ceremony was completed, as the moon flooded the heavens, 
Edgar and Eulalie stood upon the mountain side, with clasped 
hands and radiant faces, and softly but exultantly chanted the 
vesper hymn, Sangre de Christo, 


238 


A MORAL INHERITANCE. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

We must pass over twenty years in the lives of Hector and 
Aseneith, before Ave take our last glimpse of them. Their 
characters had been constantly growing toward liigher ideals. 
Blessed with worldly success, and widening influence, they 
sedulously cultivated the beautiful grace of humility ; feeling, 
that when they Iiad done all in their power, they had but in 
some slight measure made returns for their rich moral inherit- 
ance, and God-given opportunities. 

Two beautiful children were tlie delight of their lives. The 
nature of their son, Cleon, a noble youth of twenty-two years 
of age, seemed to be the complement of the finer qualities and 
characteristics of both his parents. And their lovely daughter, 
Claire, of seventeen, just blossoming into radiant womanhood, 
was the embodiment of sunshine, love, and joy. 

It was the month of July. Hector and Aseneith, with 
Claire and Cleon, were spending a few weeks at the summer 
home of Antoinette Evermond, whose husband was professor in 
one of the oldest colleges of the East. 

This charming summer retreat, was situated upon one of 
the most picturesque of the ishmds in the St. Lawrence, form- 
ing one of the group designated as the “ Thousand Islands.” 

There is no more bewitching spot in America, than this 
fascinating point in the St. Lawrence river. Nature has here com- 
bined so many of her varied and enchanting charms! The 
sweep of glistening water, is studded with its island gems, like 
emeralds set upon a shining ribbon of silver, encrusted with 
gleaming diamond points of light, as the sun catches the drops 
dancing upon the crests of the waves, and transforms them into 
myrid rainbow-tinted globules of glowing, quivering light, each 
drop a miracle of God’s almighty power. 

Then, as the eye sweeps the horizon, it takes into view the 
rusliing river ; smoothed, perchance, into the likeness of a 
mirror, in some protected cove ; then again, dashing impetu- 
ously against some rocky ledge ; then flowing onward ; — here, 
deep blue, where the clouds overshadow it ; — there, glittering 


A MORAL INHERITANCE, 


239 


like gold, where the noon-tide sun smiles upon it. Here, 
broken into bays and narrow streamlets, where the islands 
cluster thickly, lifting their green offerings of praise to their 
Creator ; while the voices of the pines are chanting Te Deiims, 
to the accompaniment of zephyrs on -®olian harps. Then 
again, the royal river flows onward with majestic breadth and 
S^weep, and the islands recede into the dim horizop as tlie 
steamboat ploughs the waves, churning the waters into white* 
foam in its wake, and scattering the spray from its side-wheels, 
in sparkling fountains of liquid diamonds* 

Then as the steamboat nears the landing of some of the large 
islands, the blue waters are dotted here and there, with fishing 
boats and rowing boats, containing picturesque groups of pleas- 
ure seekers ; adding to the varied charm of the scene, by grace 
of motion, and gayly-colored attire. 

» But the height of the enchantment of this delightful sum- 
mer resort, is experienced upon some moonlight night, when 
all jihe islands are brilliantly illuminated. And as the steamer 
glides over the silvered waters, the tourist seems to have en- 
tered some fairy-land of entrancing loveliness. On every side, 
islands encircled with rows of twinkling lights, loom from the 
waters ; while here and there, some large hotel or stately man- 
sion is garlanded from base to tower, with festoons of colored 
lanterns, gleaming like niassive chains of precious stones 
against the dark backgrounds of the imposing buildings. 

It was on such anight as this, that our little party, consist- 
ing of Hector and Aseneith Ormandoff, with Claire and Cleon, 
together with Antoinette and Professor Evermond, with their 
only son Harry, had chartered a small steamer, thereby secur- 
ing undisturbed enjoyment of the witching scene. 

The young people, who were fine musicians, had invited 
some bf their musical friends to join them ; and with songs, 
banjos and guitars, they filjed the soft night air with delightful 
melodies; which, mingling with the moonlight, entranced the 
ear, while the eye feasted upon the enchanting prospect spread 
out on all sides. 

“ Cleon and Claire, both seem to have such lovely natures. 
Hector ! ” remarked Antoinette ; as the older ones, seated a 
little apart from the group of young people, had turned for a 
moment from the alluring scene around them, to the charming 
picture of youth and beauty beside them. 

‘‘ Well, Antoinette,” replied Hector, “ Cleon and Claire are 
privileged to have inherited souls, which have descended from 


240 A MORAL INHERITANCE.^ 

long lines of Christian, self-sacrificing natures. They have 
come into a moral inheritance which is above all earthly price. 
You remember, Toy, how you and I have often blessed God 
for our rich legacy through soul-heredity ; and Aseneith’s 
noble ancestry of heroic natures and consecrated souls, gives to 
our children a double portion.” 

Just then, Cleon approached his parents ; and as he stood 
before them for a moment — with deference in his manner, and 
filial love in his noble face, as he made some slight request of 
them — the moonlight fell upon his manly brow, and in gazing 
into his true, pure eyes, there was not visible the slightest 
trace of old Ivan Ormandoff. The heroism of the Huguenots 
was stamped upon his features, the endurance of old Crom- 
welFs ‘‘ Ironsides,” was manifested by his splendid physique, 
and the loyalty of his mother’s race of Revolutionary heroes, 
glowed in his large dark eyes. In him was exemplified the 
result of the victories over self achieved by his ancestors, 
through the aid of God’s Holy Spirit ; and his priceless moral 
inheritance, was the possession of a nature, in which the ten- 
dencies toward good choices predominated so largely over evil 
tendencies, as to insure great probability of the development 
of a true and lofty character. 

As Cleon returned to his young friends, Aseneith remarked, 
with a lingering look of pride and love resting upon her idol- 
ized son : “ God grant, that he may make such a wise choice 

of his heart’s mate, as to insure to his children a still richer 
moral inheritance ! ” 

Here, in the moonlight, blessed with the realized joys of 
happy parents, with souls filled with the peace of God, “which 
passeth understanding,” leading lives of Christly consecration, 
we will take our last glimpse of Hector and Aseneith Orman- 
doff. What of joys and of sorrows the future shall bring to 
them, will but perfect their characters, and thereby add to 
their eternal rewards. 


THE END. 


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